


Say You'll Be My Messiah

by Razzamatazz



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Penelope (2006), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (except Peggy), Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angie has a baking problem, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Everyone Has Issues, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff and Angst, Gambling, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Musician Bucky Barnes, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Self Confidence Issues, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Virgin Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, bucky will fight anyone who disses 80s music, kind of??, updates weekly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8157808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzamatazz/pseuds/Razzamatazz
Summary: Sarah Rogers was born into the good life, old money, blue-blooded society sweetheart. But her family had a secret. Decades before, her great-great-grandfather had been cursed after promising to marry a servant girl then rejecting her for someone his family deemed more appropriate. The servant girl’s mother sought revenge and for the family to feel the same pain and rejection her daughter had felt. She cursed the whole family, commanding that their next son would be born with the face of a pig, and only when he was claimed as one of their own kind by his own would the curse be broken.The family lived in terror, each bride being afraid of being the first to give birth to a son. But, as luck would have it, they gave birth to all daughters, who gave birth to all daughters and so it continued.That is, until Steve Rogers was born.(Aka the Penelope AU that no one asked for)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfiction is based off of the film Penelope but you don’t have to have seen it to follow this story (but it’s a cute film with James McAvoy in it so I highly recommend it). I’ve already finished writing the story so you can expect weekly updates and I’m not gonna leave it unfinished. The title comes from the song Messiah by Prides and there's a playlist for this fic which you can listen to on [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/razz-a-ma-tazz/maybe-you-re-gonna-be-the-one-that-saves-me) or [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL50Y9xgjgWueiIRUUUpnwf1dTsesGOqj8)

_I hope you find a way to be yourself someday,_  
_In weakness or in strength,_  
_Change can be amazing._  
_So I pray for the best, I pray for the best for you._

Honest, The Neighbourhood

~

Alexander Pierce sighs as he steps out of the cold and is enveloped by the warm house. The house could hardly be called welcoming with its high ceilings and spotless coordinated furniture; in fact it could hardly be called a house at all, more like a small mansion plucked straight from the pages of a magazine. Although, Pierce notes as he slips off his shoes before hanging up his coat, maybe the style is beginning to become outdated. He’ll have to have a word with Angie, get her to find a decorator. After all he’s got to keep up appearances, especially if he hopes to become a senator.

A high pitched scream tears through the building, interrupting Pierce’s thoughts and causing him to pause halfway through removing one of his leather gloves. The scream is closely followed by a hurried pounding of feet on the stairs before a man appears at the bottom of the staircase and comes racing across the hall, skidding to a halt in front of Pierce.

“He’s a pig!” the man screams in Pierce’s face, eyes wide and panicked, before booking it from the house.

Pierce looks mildly affronted but unflustered by the outburst. He pauses for a moment, as if processing the situation, before calling out. “Natasha, we have another runner!”

Within seconds a flash of red races past him, following the man out of the door. Pierce finishes removing his gloves, tucking them neatly into the pockets of his coat, before moving further into the house to stand at the bottom of the ornate staircase.

“Steven!” he calls out as he raps his fingers against the mahogany banister. When there’s still no reply after a few seconds he calls again, his voice taking a sterner and more threatening tone.

“What?” a voice eventually shouts back.

“I’m not going to shout a conversation!” Pierce yells, making his irritation known. There’s a huff followed by muttering and heavy footsteps from overhead. A mop of blonde hair comes into view as Steve emerges onto the second floor landing.

“Yes?” he leans over the banister, seemingly unwilling to come down further, and rolls his eyes at the flinch his uncle fails to hide upon seeing his snout.

“For God’s sake, Steven, that’s the third one this week,” Pierce complains, running his hand through his hair in exasperation.

Steve scoffs at that, straightening up and crossing his thin arms over his chest. “What? All I did was show them my face. _They’re_ the ones who keep running!”

“Yes, well of course they keep running when you spring that, that _thing_ on them!” he gestures madly at Steve before dropping his hands and beginning to pace tensely across the polished floor.

“' _T_ _hat thing’_? Oh you mean my snout? Go on, you can say it,” Steve clenches his fists as he shouts right back at the older man. It takes all his will power to stop himself from storming down the stairs and showing Pierce exactly what he thinks of him.

“Steven –”

“Anyway, what am I meant to do?” he interrupts. “Just hide my face until I’m married?”

Pierce is saved from having to respond by Natasha slinking back into the house, panting slightly as she approached Pierce. “Sorry, Mr Pierce,” she speaks calmly, her shortness of breath doing little to affect her speech. “I couldn’t catch him.”

At these words Pierce’s face, which had been growing steadily redder through his interaction with Steve, drains of all colour.

“Excuse me?” Pierce’s words are drawn out and calculated, making it clear to Natasha that she ought to be very careful of what she says next.

“By the time I got out of the house he was already in a car,” Natasha replies, meeting his threatening glare with a cool look of her own.

“But he signed the gag, right?” Pierce checks but receives only a solemn shake of the head from Natasha. “Well why the hell not?” Pierce explodes, his already thin patience giving out beneath the strain of this new information.

“We always make them sign the gag afterwards,” Natasha jumps slightly as Pierce slams his hand against the cream-coloured wall.

“Shit!” Pierce braces his weight against the wall as he takes deep steadying breaths and tries to formulate a solution to this disaster. “Okay,” he eventually manages to get out. “Okay, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. If any accusations are made we just deny everything. Just stick to the story that Steven is too ill to leave the house and soon this will all blow over,” Pierce reassures, more to himself than anyone else.

“Do you want me to try and approach the runner? Maybe let him know what will happen if word gets out?” Natasha suggests, absentmindedly cracking her knuckles.

“No, no, that’s Justin Hammer,” Pierce waves off her suggestion. “We can’t go threatening Senator Stern’s nephew,” he straightens up, putting on a tight-lipped smile. “No, we just wait this out. Anyway, even if he does talk, who’s going to believe the story of a boy with the face of a pig?”

“Yeah, who’d believe that?” Steve mutters before turning his back on Pierce, who’s already discussing a new security system with Natasha, and sloping back upstairs to his room.

He approaches the canvas he had been working on, before the whole fiasco with Justin, and picks up his abandoned paintbrush only to find his muse has upped and left. _Great_. Well since it looks like his inspiration won’t be coming back anytime soon, he washes his paintbrushes and boots up his computer.

He’s halfway through his fourth episode of _Community_ before there’s a tentative knock at the door.

“It’s open,” he calls, already knowing it won’t be Pierce since he tends to forgo the knocking entirely and just barge right in.

There’s a delicate clicking of heels on the hardwood floor before a soft English voice calls out his name gingerly. Steve pauses the episode and turns round to see Peggy at the door of his living room.

“Angie made apple pie,” she said holding up a plate covered in plastic wrap.

“Thanks,” Steve smiles, uncurling his legs from underneath him and following Peggy into the kitchen. Angie must have overheard the argument since she knows her apple pie is one of the few things guaranteed to cheer Steve up. “Are you going to have some with me?” Steve asks, pulling a plate from the cupboard as Peggy uncovers the pie.

“I’d better not, I think I’ve already had more than my fair share of this in the kitchen,” Peggy smiles guiltily. “Wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea though.”

“Yeah well you can do that yourself then,” Steve says as Peggy cuts a large chunk of pie and slides it onto Steve’s plate. “Seeing as you always complain about how I make it.”

“You leave the teabag in!” Peggy objects. “It’s just wrong!”

Steve laughs, taking his pie into the living room where he curls up back into his previous position.

“Don’t even get me started on the fact that you microwave it,” Peggy shudders as she takes her place on the other end of the couch in what has been deemed ‘ _Peggy’s Spot’_.

They sit in silence for a moment as Steve nibbles at his pie and Peggy waits for her tea to cool.

“Natasha told us about what happened today,” Peggy sips at her drink, examining Steve over the top of her Garfield mug. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve shrugs. There’s not really a lot to say. Men have been running from him on pretty much a weekly basis for three years, since his 18th birthday when Peggy was hired to be his matchmaker. The only thing different about today is that Justin had gotten away before Natasha was able to blackmail him into silence. And, even though it has happened more times than he can count, it still fucking hurts.

“It’s not you they’re running from,” Peggy brings her hand to rest on his ankle, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve got to know that, Steve.”

“Yeah, well it’s my face,” Steve huffs bitterly, avoiding eye contact and instead focusing on picking at the pie crust.

“Yes, but you are not your snout, Steve,” she implores, squeezing his ankle to gain his attention. “You are so much more than that and one day you will find a guy who sees you for what you are: a good man.”

“And then the curse will be broken, I know how the story goes, Peggy,” Steve snaps.

She withdraws her hand from his ankle, affronted by the sudden outburst.

“I’m sorry, Peg,” Steve apologises. “It’s just…”

“It’s okay, Steve. You don’t have to try and explain, I know how difficult this must be for you.”

“They just,” Steve starts, his voice wobbling dangerously. “They always run, _always…_ ” Steve breaks off as tears start to escape from behind his eyelids.

“Shh… It’s okay,” Peggy hushes, drawing him into her arms. “I know, I know,” she comforts, one hand stroking through his hair while the other rubs along his arm.

They stay entwined like that until Steve’s sobs have died down into shuddering breaths the occasional hiccup.

“Oh god, I’ve left wet patches all over your top,” Steve says apologetically when he eventually raises his head.

“It’s fine, Steve,” Peggy laughs. “What were you watching?” she nods towards to computer that has long since gone to sleep.

“Just Community,” he sniffles, rubbing his blotchy eyes with the back of his hand.

“You mind if I watch?” she leans over and moves the mouse around so the screen lights up.

“No, but I’m in the middle of an episode,” Steve points out. “It won’t make much sense.”

“That’s okay,” she shrugs, pressing play before settling back against the pillows. “I’ve seen this episode anyway.”

“Me too,” Steve agrees and snuggles back against Peggy, letting out a hum of content when she pulls the blanket from the back of the couch over them.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

Arnim Zola is just getting back from his lunch break when he hears the commotion.

“You’ve got to listen to me!” a man is screaming. “I’m not crazy!”

A moment later, the man appears at the end of the hallway being dragged away by security. Zola steps to the side in order to let them past and avoid the man’s flailing limbs.

He’s ready to shrug it off as just another crazy wanting them to publish some conspiracy theory when the man yells, “I’m telling you, he had the face of a pig! He had a piggy snout on his face and _I’m not mental!"_

“Hang on!” Zola runs to the end of the corridor where the man, flanked by two security guards, has just entered the elevator and puts his arm out to stop the doors from closing. “I do believe this gentleman is with me.”

“I am?” the man looks stunned and slightly unsure but steps out of the elevator anyway.

“Of course. That’ll be all, boys,” Zola calls over to the men in the elevator, one of whom mutters a ‘ _whatever_ ’ before pressing the button for the ground floor. “Step into my office,” Zola ushers him into a room to their left with a smile that could only be describes as creepy.

He slips into a chair behind a desk scattered with junk food wrappers and pieces of paper covered in incoherent scribbles. Zola gestures for the man to take the seat opposite him before rummaging through the trash on his desk and producing a notebook and stubby pencil.

“What was this you were saying about a man with the face of a pig?” Zola prompts with a flash of his unpleasant smile.

“Well uh Mr Zola,” the man says reading Zola’s name from the plate on his desk.

“Oh please, call me Arnim,” Zola waves him off. “And you are?”

“I’m Justin Hammer,” he puffs himself up, clearly expecting some kind of reaction from the man opposite him. When there is none he deflates a little but continues with his story. “My uncle, Senator Stern,” he pauses again, watching for Zola’s response. Zola raises his eyebrows slightly in surprise but says nothing. Feeling marginally smug at having impressed the man, Justin continues. “Arranged for me to meet with Alexander Pierce’s nephew as a sort of blind date. Now of course no one knows what this guy looks like since he’s always kept inside because he’s ill or something. So I go to meet him, mainly out of curiosity, and I’m led into this library where there’s this kind of speaker system which this guy, Steve, speaks to me through. So we talk for a while and he mentions this curse. Of course I think it’s just a figure of speech. It’s not. Then after a bit I ask if I can see him then this door opens and out comes this _thing_.”

Justin looks up at Zola, his face a mix of fear and confusion at the memory. Zola nods for him to continue.

“He had a _snout_! I’m pretty sure I saw fangs too,” he bends his index fingers into hooks in front of his mouth to illustrate. “So I got out of there as fast as I could. I’m telling you, if I hadn’t got out of there when I did, he would have eaten me. I almost _died_.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Zola looks up from where he’s been scribbling notes on the pad.

“I did, they thought I was crazy too.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Zola digs in a drawer and pulls out two glasses and a bottle of cheap scotch. He pours the drinks and offers one to Justin who takes it with a trembling hand.

“You don’t?” he sips at the amber liquid in his glass.

“No, I don’t,” Zola leans back with a sigh. “A few years ago I decided to find out the real story behind why Pierce’s nephew has never been seen by anyone so I snuck into the house. I only caught a glimpse of the boy but what I saw definitely matches your description.” He takes of swig of his drink. “Of course, nobody believed me either.”

“So what do we do?”

“You’re going to have to go back and get a picture.”

“No way!” Justin stands abruptly. “You can’t send me back in there, I told you, he’s going to eat me!”

“Well we can’t run the story now, we don’t have enough evidence,” Zola argues.

“Then find someone else to go in there,” Justin bargains.

“I suppose we could offer a reward…”

“That’s not going to work,” Justin cuts him off. “They only see old money, bluebloods, something to do with the whole curse thing. I don’t think we’ll find any of them lining up to help us, it’s not like they need the money.”

Zola thinks for a second before searching through the pile of papers on his desk. “Yeah, but down-and-out bluebloods do and I think I might have just the guy,” he pulls out a newspaper and turns to an article before handing it to Justin.

“' _A_ _ristocrat’s son James Falsworth gambles away family fortune_ ’,” Justin reads. He puts the paper down and shares a conspiratorial glance with Zola. “Sounds perfect.”

 

*

 

Zola enters the basement and struggles not to choke on the haze of smoke that hangs above eight round poker tables squeezed into the small space. Outside the sun is only just starting to set, but stepping into the dimly lit room it’s easy to lose all concept of time. There are no windows, the light only coming from flickering yellow lights that hang from the smoke-blackened ceiling, and a deliberate lack of clocks so the gamblers could never be sure if they’d been at the table for five minutes or five hours.

He approaches a man standing behind a booth wearing a red waistcoat that matches the bartender and the dealers. 

“I’m looking for James Falsworth?” Zola interrupts the man who was casually flicking through a magazine.

“Falsworth, eh?” the man crosses his arms as if debating whether or not he should reveal that information to this slimy looking man. “He’s over there, table three,” he points to a table where a man with shoulder-length scraggly brown hair is rising from his seat and pulling on his coat.

“Thank you,” Zola nods his head in gratitude before approaching the man who’s pushing his way through the crowded tables.

“James!” Zola calls out, but the man pushes past him to the stairs. “James Falsworth,” Zola reaches out to stop James where he’s already started to ascend the stairs.

“You’ve got the wrong guy,” James shrugs him off carelessly and continues to climb the stairs.

“My name is Arnim Zola. I have a proposition for you, James,” Zola squeezes past James and moves to block his path. “I promise I can make it worth your while.”

That just earns him a derisive snort from James who brushes past him.

“Five thousand bucks worth your while?” At that James stops, turning to face the small man below him he raises an eyebrow.

“Five thousand dollars?” 

“That’s right, half upfront,” Zola confirms, moving to the step above James so they’re on eyelevel.

James considers, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “What would I have to do?”

“Please, come with me to my office, we can discuss details there,” Zola shoots him a predatory smile that makes James have to supress a shudder. The guy probably wants to take some pervy photos, although who would pay $5000 for something they could find so easily online?

“Fine, lead the way,” James decides, he’s done a lot more for a lot less money in the past, and $5000 is not to be sniffed at.

Zola smiles his ominous smile again before leading James up and out onto the street.

 

“You work at Hydra?” James looks sceptical as Zola’s beat-up van pulls into the intimidating building’s parking lot. “Oh god, you’re a journalist,” James almost wishes this guy had been a pervert.

“Yes, I am.” Zola parks the van and shuts off the engine. He leads James round the back of the building to a rusty service door which he jimmies open.

They ride the elevator up to Zola’s office in silence. James tries not to feel too nervous. If something goes wrong he can take this guy easy, he’s got about a foot on him, plus a metal arm. When they get out of the elevator they’re greeted by a pitch black corridor, aside from a chink of light spilling from an ajar door to the left.

“Is this him?” James is greeted by a man probably a few years younger than with mousy hair and a strained expression. He can’t help thinking he’s seen the man before.

“Yes, it is. Justin, this is James Falsworth. James, this is Justin Hammer,” Zola introduces and Justin reluctantly holds out a hand.

“That’s it! I thought I recognised you!” James exclaimed, ignoring Justin’s outstretched hand. “Your father is the one trying to compete with Stark Industries,” he laughs. “Sorry to tell you this pal, but you’re fighting a losing battle there.”

“I would take a bit more care with how you talk to the man who’s paying you,” Justin drops his hand with an insulted huff.

“Paying me to do what exactly? You still haven’t told me what this is about.”

Justin and Zola exchange hesitant glances. “Well James, we need some photos taken,” Zola starts.

“Okay…”

“Of Steven Rogers.”

“Wait… Isn’t he Alexander Pierce’s son or something?” James confirms after a beat of silence.

“Or something, yes.”

“And how do you suppose I do that? You do know he never leaves the house, right?”

“Simple,” Zola shrugs. “Pierce is looking for Steve to get married so you go in as one of his suitors.”

“And why can’t he do it?” James gestures over to Justin who’s examining the framed articles on Zola’s wall.

“That’s irrelevant,” Zola says before Justin could respond. “Do you want the job or not?”

James deliberates for a second. “Fine, but give me the money now.”

“You’ll get _half_ the money tomorrow when you go in there. Meet us here at 10am tomorrow,” Zola instructs handing James a scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it.

James takes the address and skims his eyes over it quickly before pocketing it. “We done here?” Zola nods and James leaves without a backwards glance.

“Wear a suit!” Justin calls after his retreating figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! My tumblr is [here](http://razz-a-ma-tazz.tumblr.com/) and feedback is always appreciated so leave me a comment or drop me a message on tumblr.


	2. Chapter 2

_This could be worth the risk, worth the guarantee_  
_This could be the drug that doesn't bite_  
 _Just give me a try_

Give Me a Try, The Wombats

~

“Oh you finally decided to turn up then? How nice of you to grace us with your presence,” Justin greets, flinging the door open with a scowl when James raps on the side of the van the next morning.

“Bite me, Justin,” James retorts.

“What took you so long, anyway? It can’t have been your appearance,” Justin’s eyes sweep disdainfully over James, taking in his rumpled shirt and tatty suit jacket.

“If you must know, I had to stop for coffee,” he huffs, holding up his Starbucks cup to illustrate.

“Well, you’re here now,” Zola cuts off whatever Justin was about to say. “Here, put this on.” He holds out a blue striped blazer.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” James exchanges his paper cup for the blazer and carelessly shrugs off his jacket before throwing it at Justin.

“What’s wrong with it? –”

“Nothing is wrong with it,” Zola cuts Justin off with a sharp look. “This one has a camera built into the lapel.”

“Huh, cool. So how do I…?”

“You take a photo by raising your right arm,” Zola informs him.

James lifts his arm and hears a quiet click. “Awesome!” he points the camera towards Justin and lifts his arm again. “Say cheese, Justin!”

“Stop wasting the film and get in there!” Zola reprimands. He’s already regretting James’ involvement in this operation.

“What about my money? Half upfront you said.” Zola, who had just been about to shut the door, sighs and holds out a hand towards Justin. Hammer grumbles something incoherently before handing over the money to James, with the same expression of someone handing over their first born child. “Thank you very much.”

Justin practically snarls at him and slams the door in his face.

“Can I at least finish my coffee?” James calls at the closed doors. “No? Fuck you too.”

He whistles as he fixes his hair in the side mirror before turning to face the looming building. Obviously he’s familiar with the Pierce estate – who isn’t? – But reading about it in a magazine and seeing it in real life are two very different things. He walks up the steps to the striking building and pushes the intercom by the door. James can’t help but feel rather inferior in front of this house, like if he tries to enter he’ll set off some kind of alarm. A bubbly sounding woman asks for his name through the speaker, he recites it and she buzzes him in quickly.

After taking a deep breath he pushes open the door and steps inside. No alarms ring. No guard dogs leap out and attack him. Instead he is approached by a very pretty woman with light brown curls pinned back either side of her face. She wears an open, welcoming expression which feels genuine, even though James knows she must greet every suitor the same way.

“James Falsworth?” she asks, her smile giving a pleasant lilt to her voice.

“Uh… yes, that’s me.”

“Follow me, please,” she turns and starts to climb a grand staircase, not bothering to look back and check if James is following.

He trails after her, occasionally having to jog to keep up after being distracted by the beautiful decor and slowing almost to a halt to take it all in. If he’d thought the building was impressive from the outside, it was nothing compared to the interior.

“Yeah, I know,” the woman has stopped at the end of a corridor waiting for him. “It’s a bit dated now, but Mr Pierce is getting decorators in next week,” she comments, clearly misreading the look of awe on his face.

“Uh…” James tries desperately to think of the correct response. Is he meant to agree with her?

“You’re just through here,” she indicates to a door on her right, thankfully rescuing him from his struggle.

“Thank you…?”

“Angie,” she holds out a hand for him which he kisses, because apparently he’s now from the 18th century, but it makes her blush and let out a small giggle anyway. “I hope to be seeing more of you, James,” she tells him as he pushes the door.

“Me too, Angie. Fingers crossed, eh?” he lifts his arm, crossing his fingers on his right hand, and hears a quiet click. _Damn it_. Zola isn’t going to be happy if he keeps on wasting his film.

James leans against the door and it swings open, revealing a room of men in sharp suits that probably cost more than he’s being paid for this job who stop talking upon noticing his arrival. A fed up looking red head approaches him with a pen and clipboard.

“Name?” she asks bluntly.

“James Falsworth,” she looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here – James can relate.

“Here, fill this in,” she hands him the pen and the clipboard which has an official looking document on it.

“What is it?” he asks, hovering the pen hesitantly over the page.

“Just your basic gag order: you don’t talk, we won’t talk,” she shrugs as if she wasn’t basically blackmailing him.

He skims reads the paper before signing at the bottom and handing it back to her.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” she smiles at him and James can’t help but be reminded of Wednesday Addams.

She turns and flicks to another piece of paper on her clipboard and ticks something off then looks around the room. She seems satisfied and turns to leave but as she’s making her way through the sea of bluebloods, somebody catches her by the upper arm. She stiffens and her whole body language practically screams _get the fuck away from me_ , but she turns to face the man and plasters on a professional smile.

James is too far away to hear their conversation but he can tell that she’s not enjoying it one bit. The man has one hand on her lower back and is seriously invading her personal space. James is debating whether or not he should intervene when the man’s hand slips lower and James’ feet seem to have made the decision for him. But before he can move even two steps, the red head has the man bent over a writing desk with his hand twisted painfully behind his back. James is still out of earshot but he can tell the woman is speaking to him and whatever she’s saying has turned him an ill-looking shade of grey.

She releases the man who straightens up immediately, clutching his damaged arm in front of him. She continues on her path to the door except now the men in front of her part like the Red Sea. When she reaches the door she turns to face the room that has now gone deathly silent.

“Steve will be with you in just a moment.” She flashes her shark-like grin again before stalking out the room.

There’s some scattered muttering and grumbling around the room and James has to fight to keep a smirk off of his face. In an attempt to distract himself, he reaches up and gets a book down from one of the cases that line the wall. He sighs as he hears another click, except this one is soon followed by another, and another.

“Shit,” he curses to himself, dropping to the floor behind a French chaise and grappling with the small camera inside the blazer. He’s tempted to just yank the damn thing out but he doubts that Zola will be very pleased with that.

 

*

 

Meanwhile, while James is struggling with an uncooperative camera, Steve is struggling with an irritated Pierce.

“Well, they’re all in there. Although why you wouldn’t rather see them individually I don’t know.” Pierce stands in Steve’s doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he eyes Steve resentfully.

“It’ll be easier to weed out the unlikelies this way,” Steve shrugs. “Bit of privacy?” Pierce rolls his eyes but leaves Steve to it, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

Steve walks across the room to close the door, then turns and looks out of the two-way mirror that takes up a large part of the wall. There they all are. His suitors. He examines them from the privacy of behind his mirror. None of them look particularly promising.

“Let’s get this over with.” He fixes his hair, not that anyone will notice, and pushes open the door to the crowded room.

“Hello, I’m Steve,” he greets, “and you must be?”

There’s silence for a moment before what seems like a domino effect of screams takes place. Men drop their glasses, spilling the drinks on the floor, and several chairs are knocked over in the rush for the door.

“Late for tea?” Steve smirks as he turns and retreats back into his room. He can’t help but find the scene amusing; the sight of a room full of men screaming like children and practically wetting their pants. That is, until he remembers they’re all running from his face, then the situation loses some of its humour.

Suddenly feeling far less amused than he had a few seconds ago, Steve heads down to the kitchen to find something to eat. Natasha, Peggy, and Angie are all gathered around a small television where they’d just watched the events of the last five minutes unfold. Peggy’s red lips are turned down in a sad frown, whereas Natasha is smirking, and Angie looks like she’s torn between the two. He walks past them to the cupboard where all the junk food is kept.

“What the hell was that?” Pierce appears fuming in the doorway.

Steve pointedly ignores Pierce’s presence, instead opting to open a pack of M&M’s.

“For god’s sake, stop acting like a pig and answer me!” Pierce slaps the packet out of his hand, causing the colourful chocolates to scatter across the floor.

“That was the last of the M&M’s!” Steve complains. “I’m going to the store.”

“Pick me up some chips,” Natasha says at the same time Pierce replies “You most certainly are not.”

 “Uh guys?” Peggy interrupts the argument. “Someone’s still in there.” Everyone turns to look at the monitor which showed a confused looking man wandering around the empty room.

“Who is he?” Steve squints at the screen. He’s fairly sure he hadn’t seen that man in the room; he would have remembered seeing a guy like that.

“Who cares, just go!” Pierce shoves him back in the direction of his room before turning to watch the TV with the others.

Steve, fuelled by curiosity and in a minor state of shock, goes without protest.

 

*

 

Just when James has managed to get the camera under control, the room is suddenly filled with (not very manly) screams. He quickly pushes himself into the corner to avoid being trampled under a stampede of Gucci. When he finally stands up the room is deserted. A few chairs have been knocked over and an expensive looking vase is in pieces on the floor.

“Hello?” he calls out but there’s no reply. “Anybody home?” James’s eyes fall on a mirror he hasn’t noticed before.

He approaches it and examines the image. His reflection stares back at him, showing tired shadows under his eyes and the beginnings of laughter lines. God, he’s only 32, aren’t people meant to start getting those things later? It must be because of the late nights down at the poker tables (or technically early mornings). He should probably stop that at some point… but not now. He pulls some faces at his doppelganger before turning away from the reminder of his mortality.

James goes back to perusing the books like he had before all the other men had been abducted or something. One book in particular catches his eye. He pulls it out and skims over the cover before flicking to the first page. Huh, signed first edition… James slips the book subtly into the inside pocket of his blazer next to the camera.

“Don’t you forget about me…” he sings to no one in particular – an apt song for his current situation – as he spins on his heel and strolls towards the bookshelf on the other side of the room.

“Simple Minds,” a low voice says out of nowhere causing James to jump out of his skin.

“JESUS CHRIST! W-what?” James whips his head around in an attempt to find the source of the voice.

“You were singing a song by Simple Minds,” the disembodied voice states simply.

“Yes, I know that but…” James turns again, as if this time the mystery man would reveal himself. “Where are you?”

“Behind the mirror,” the voice says and James notices speakers either side of the mirror as well as a microphone on the mantelpiece. “Did you see?”

“Did I see what?”

“Y’know… did you _see_?”

“ _See_ what?”

“So you didn’t see?”

“I didn’t?”

“Look, did you see or not?”

“I don’t know, did I?” James smirks at the annoyance seeping into the other man’s voice.

“Who are you, anyway?” James can practically feel the man rolling his eyes from the other side of the mirror.

“James, uh, Falsworth, and I assume you’re Steve?”

“That’s right.”

“So uh Steve, just how long have you been standing there?” James asks, remembering pulling those faces at his reflection earlier. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear the answer to his question.

“Long enough.” Although James couldn’t see him, he could hear the smirk in his voice. _Jerk._ “So are you a fan of Thor Odinson?”

“Who?” James moves to lean his forearms on the mantle so he was only a few inches from the mirror.

“The writer of the Asgard Chronicles? Y’know, that book you’ve got in your jacket?”

“Oh… you saw that huh?” James at least has the decency to look sheepish.

“Yeah, I saw that.”

“Yeah, you could say I’m a fan,” James takes the book out of his blazer and flicks through the pages mindlessly. “Well, to be honest, I saw it was a first edition so I figured it might be worth something.”

“So you’re just a fan of the money?” Steve asks, that pulls a laugh out of James.

“Oh, I’m a big fan of the money,” he leans closer to the microphone and pitches his voice lower in a way that makes Steve blush. “Doesn’t seem very fond of me though,” he mutters as he moves away from the microphone.

“Well of all the books in here, there are around three hundred first editions,” Steve says in a matter-of-fact manner. “Most of which are worth over 25,000, a dozen or so are worth over 50,000, but there’s only one that’s valued under one hundred.”

“Under a hundred, huh?” James looks down at the book he’s holding.

“Afraid so. Just your average fantasy novel available in any bookstore.” Steve begins to walk towards his door, planning on asking Natasha to escort James out. The man had stayed but he was clearly just a time waster. “So if that’s all you’re here for I think –”

“But it’s still your favourite,” James calls causing Steve to stop and turn back to look at him.

“What?”

“I said it’s your favourite all the same,” James holds the book up with a knowing smile.

“I heard you, I just…” Steve trails off. How does this guy know it’s his favourite book? Steve deliberates for a second. “Bookcase on your left, top shelf: The Hobbit, it’s a first edition,” he reveals. “Although wait until I’m gone or they’ll see you.”

“See me? Who’ll see me? Steve?”

Steve walks to the door and opens it before closing it loudly and sneaking back over to the mirror. On the other side of the glass James looks around (despite the room still being empty) before sauntering over to the bookcase Steve had mentioned. He whistles innocently as he exchanges the Asgard Chronicles for The Hobbit then slips it inside his blazer. James appears to think for a moment but then turns on his heel and leaves the room without a second glance.

Steve can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Isn’t James meant to do the right thing and leave the book? He’s rich anyway, so it’s not like he needs the money. He didn’t even say a proper goodbye, Steve suddenly realises.

“GOTCHA!” James shouts, reappearing in the doorway seconds later and startling Steve out of his thoughts. “No?” his grin slips slightly at the still empty room. He walks back over to the mirror and taps on the glass. “Stevie?”

Steve sits on the other side, just a few inches away. James squints at the glass and for a second Steve has the unnerving feeling that James can see him. Even though he knows it’s impossible, he still dips his head to hide his snout behind his arm. James sighs and turns to leave.

“Will you be back tomorrow?” she can’t help himself from calling out.

“I knew it,” James swivels around, a large grin plastered across his face. “I _knew_ you were there.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Steve bites his lip to keep himself from smiling.

“Yeah, sure I will. See you tomorrow, Stevie.” He waves lazily and leaves the room.

Only once he’s one hundred percent sure that James is out of earshot does he let himself release an undignified squeal because _he didn’t run!_ For once someone didn’t run.

 

*

 

James knocks a happy rhythm on the side of the van where Justin and Zola have been inside waiting for him.

“So?” Justin opens the back doors.

“So what?”

“So what happened? Everyone else came running out ages ago but you weren’t with them.”

“Aww, were you worried about me, Justin?” James holds his hand out for his jacket which Hammer grudgingly hands over.

“Never mind that,” Zola interjects, beckoning expectantly for the blazer. “Did you get it?”

James moves Zola’s money from earlier from the blazer into his jacket before handing it back. “No, I didn’t.”

“What’s this?” Justin is holding up the copy of The Hobbit.

“It’s a book, Justin. I’m sure your servants have probably read them to you before,” James snipes as he plucks the book from Justin’s hand and stuffs it into his pocket.

“Hang on a second, what do you mean you didn’t get it?” Zola pulls James from his bickering. “You know the deal, Falsworth-“

“Calm down, everything’s fine. I’m going back tomorrow.” This seems to placate Zola somewhat.

“Okay, fine,” Zola huffs in a way that suggests the situation is decidedly not ‘ _fine_ ’. “We’ll see you here tomorrow, same time. Don’t be late.” Zola instructs and James gets the door slammed rudely in his face for the second time that day.

 

*

 

Once he’s sure James is gone, Steve opens the door that leads into the library and plucks the Asgard Chronicles from the incorrect place on the shelf. But instead of putting it back in the right place, Steve sits down on the couch and opens the book.

A couple of seconds after he entered the room, Angie, Peggy, and Natasha follow looking delighted and slightly tearful in Angie’s case. The three women launch themselves at him in what was meant to be a hug but ends up more like a pileup on the couch.

“I’m so happy for you Steve,” Peggy beams once Steve has managed to bat them off of him.  

“Calm down guys, you’re acting like he’s already proposed,” Steve points out but he still can’t seem to get rid of his smile that reaches from ear to ear.

“Only a matter of time,” Natasha winks at him.

“I know what this calls for.” Angie has finally managed to compose herself and wipe away the dampness around her eyes. “We should make cupcakes.”

Angie and Peggy stand up and start heading for the kitchen but Steve wavers.

“What’s up?” Natasha asks, noticing the way Steve is looking down at the book in his hands.

“I thought he just knew what my favourite book was, but look,” Steve shows her the inside of the cover where a younger Steve had written _Steve Rogers loves Thor Odinson_ inside a heart. “I wrote it right there.”

“But still, of all the books in here, he managed to choose the one that’s your favourite,” Natasha points out.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Come on.” She stands up and holds out a hand to him. “The others will be wondering where we got to.”

It’s only when they’re in the kitchen that Steve thinks to ask, “Where’s Pierce?” He would have thought that Pierce would be the first one through that door after Steve had met the man that could potentially break the curse.

“He had to take an important phone call, but he seemed pleased,” Peggy replies as she hands him an apron, knowing all too well that Steve’s presence in the kitchen always ends with someone (usually him) covered in cooking ingredients.

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees, “I think he almost smiled.”

Steve laughs at the playful banter the girls throw around while they’re all mixing the cupcakes. Normally Angie doesn’t let Peggy or Natasha anywhere near her ingredients, and Steve remembers why as half a bag of flour gets tipped onto the floor. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop smiling. Maybe things are finally starting to look up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought in the comments (constructive criticism is welcome) or come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://razz-a-ma-tazz.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support I've gotten so far on this fic, it's been really encouraging. This chapter was a bit trickier to write and I'm still not sure how I feel about it but I'm posting it anyway.

_Because maybe_  
_You're gonna be the one that saves me_  
 _And after all_  
 _You're my wonderwall_

Wonderwall, Oasis

~

When James is shown into the room the next day, he finds a beautiful array of various cakes and pastries laid out on the table. For a moment he worries that he’s walked into the wrong room or Steve’s forgotten he’s coming, since these can’t possibly all be for him.

Steve watches from the other side of the glass as James approaches the table hesitantly. He’s actually managed to find a comb to run through his hair this time, Steve notes, although his shirt is a crumpled as ever and he’s wearing the same blazer from yesterday.

“Are we expecting company? A football team or a small army maybe?” James gestures at the table which is not actually visible beneath the assorted baked goods set out on matching china plates and cake stands.

“Uh no, sorry about that,” Steve lets out an awkward chuckle. “Angie just loves baking and she’s taken a real shine to you.”

“I like her too, tell her I said thanks.” He picks up a cupcake and sits down on one of the sofas, grabbing a plate as an afterthought to avoid dropping crumbs on the sofa that’s probably worth more than his car.

“Uh you might not want that one,” James pauses with the cake halfway up to his mouth. “I helped to make those.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Stevie.” James rolls his eyes and takes a bite. “See? It’s-” he stops, his eyes growing wide as he claws at his throat. “Poison!” he cries as he slumps dramatically over the arm of the couch.

“Shut up, you jerk. “Steve tries to sound annoyed but James can tell he’s smiling behind the glass.

“That’s because I’m an excellent actor,” James sits up with a smug smile and takes another bite of the cake. “Honestly, I should be on the stage.”

“Yeah, sweeping it,” Steve mutters.

“You wound me, Steven!” James clutches at his chest, his eyebrows drawn together in a pained expression. “Is that chess set for us?” James gets distracted by the board that’s already been set up on the mantelpiece.

“Yeah, I thought we could play. You can learn a lot about a person through how they play chess.”

“Well, all you’re gonna learn from me is that I can’t play chess,” James points out but pulls a chair over anyway.

“That’s okay, I’ll go easy on you.”

A few moves later, James has learned that Steve is a dirty liar.

“You call that going easy?” James complains as Steve takes his queen.

“I said easy, I didn’t say I was going to let you win,” he smirks.

“Whatever, you’re an ass.” James moves another pawn to the barricade he’s slowly building up around his king. “You do know you don’t have to be so serious about this,” James says after nearly five minutes of Steve pondering his next move. “You’re going to win no matter what.”

“Okay,” Steve seems to have finally decided on his move. “Move my king two squares towards the rook then move the rook to the other side of the king.”

“I’m not that good at chess but I’m pretty sure that a) that’s two moves, and b) the king can only move one space at a time,” James crosses his arms sceptically.

“It’s a thing!” Steve insists, sounding indignant. “It’s called castling, you can google it!”

“No, Steve, it’s called cheating.”

“Ugh fine, knight to G3 then,” Steve huffs.

Half an hour later, James is down to a pawn and his king.

“You get this kind of scary blank but slightly murderous look on your face when you’re thinking about a move,” Steve observes as James tries to work out the least stupid move. He opts for just moving his pawn forwards a space. “It’s unnerving.”

“Yeah, sorry, poker side-effect,” James shrugs.

“You play poker?” Steve instructs his knight to take James’ pawn. James curses quietly.

“Occasionally,” he lies. “Okay, let’s settle this man-to-man,” James says as he moves his king forwards one space, setting a course for Steve’s king. “I’m coming for you, bitch.”

“Checkmate.”

“What the fuck?”

“My bishop takes your king, checkmate.”

James stares at the board in silence for a moment.

“Okay, next time we’re playing snap.”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

“So you’re telling me you’ve never had a beer?” James asks as he adds a couple of chips to the pile on the mantelpiece.

He’s been trying to teach Steve how to play poker, which is not an easy feat thanks to the glass separating them, but they manage by blutacking Steve’s cards to the mirror so James can’t see them. In theory, Steve should have an advantage since James can’t see his face so can’t read his expression, except James has discovered Steve takes a sharp intake of breath whenever he gets good cards.

“Call,” Steve instructs and James throws some chips from Steve’s (significantly smaller) stack onto the pile. “I’ve had a beer.”

“Yes, but have you ever had a beer _on tap_?” James takes another card from the pack and turns it face up on the mantle before knocking on the wood.

“Well no…” Steve knocks on the mirror in response.

“Well then you’ve never had a beer,” James smirks. “If you ever fancy having a real beer then there’s no better place than the Howling Commandoes: best beer and best beer bums in all of Brooklyn.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that if I ever find myself in Brooklyn,” Steve laughs.

“Okay, let’s see what you got.” James takes the cards off of the mirror. “Three of a kind,” he nods in approval. “Not bad, Stevie. Although…” James slowly flips his own cards, a sly smile creeping over his face, “doesn’t beat a flush.”

There’s a squawk of protest from Steve and James laughs evilly as he gathers up his winnings.

“I wanna play something else.” James can practically feel Steve’s pout through the mirror.

“Aww, don’t be a sore loser, Steve,” James grins as he stacks up his newly acquired chips. “Y’know you can tell a lot about a person by how they play poker.”

“Shut up, jerk.”

“Punk,” James retorts but packs up the cards anyway.

He puts the cards and chips back in the cupboard full of board games, which James assumes are probably only there for his visits, since Alexander Pierce doesn’t strike him as the sort of person who’s fond of _Trivial Pursuit_.

“What’s this?” James pulls out a heavy black box with silver latches on the top. He flicks the latches and opens the box to find “Records?”

“Yes, they’re records. I would’ve thought you’d be familiar with them, grandpa,” Steve teases.

“You little shit, I’m only 32!” he scoffs.

“Well according to Wikipedia you’re 33.”

“Have you been googling me, Steven?” James flicks his gaze up from where he’s combing through the vinyl. It doesn’t matter that he can’t see Steve’s face, he knows he’s blushing. “Your dad really has terrible taste in music, this is all classical shit,” James complains as he stares at a scowling Beethoven.

“He’s not my dad,” Steve practically spits.

James’ initial shock at Steve’s statement and his sudden change in mood is masked quickly and he crosses the room back towards Steve, leaving the records scattered on the side. “He’s not?” James resumes his seat in front of the mirror.

“No, he’s not.”

“What happened to them? Your parents I mean. If you don’t mind me asking,” James tacks on hurriedly.

“No, it’s fine.” Steve takes a breath. “My dad was killed while deployed overseas, mum died in childbirth.”

“Shit, Steve, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve shrugs on the other side of the glass, “I mean I miss them but I never really knew them, just what other people have told me. Do you think that’s weird?”

“Not at all,” James replies. “I never knew my grandparents but I still missed them when I was a kid, especially when my friends talked about theirs or showed me the socks their gran had knitted for them. I know it’s not the same,” James adds quickly, worried about offending Steve.

“I think she would have liked you,” Steve says after a little while.

James dips his head, shame flooding his cheeks. He very much doubts that Steve or his mom would like him if they knew the real reason why he’s here.

“She was pretty much the exact opposite of Pierce,” Steve continues, unaware of James’s guilt creeping up on him, “never too preoccupied with money, ended up giving most of her inheritance away. She lost contact with her family when she ran off with my dad. Her parents always hoped that she’d marry someone ‘respectable’, of a similar social standing. My dad wasn’t exactly what they were picturing: an out of work Irish immigrant? Yeah, that didn’t go down too well,” Steve chuckles. “But they made it work. My mom was never one to give up, or so I’m told.”

“She sounds great,” James says honestly. “What was her name?”

“Sarah.”

It’s quiet for a minute before James hesitantly asks, “So how come you live with Pierce?”

“He was married to my mom’s sister and she convinced him to take me in. He wasn’t happy about it but they’re the only family I’ve got left, and it wouldn’t look good to turn away an orphan. My aunt was nice enough, wasn’t around much, but she died a when I was thirteen. So I’m stuck with Pierce who’s made it very clear from the start that he doesn’t want me around.”

“That must be hard.”

“It is what it is. Don’t feel too sorry for me though,” Steve forces a cheery tone, trying to brighten the mood, “I’ve got Natasha, Peggy, and Angie. They’re good friends.”

“You’ve got me too y’know,” James adds, although he’s not sure what prompts him to do so.

“Thanks,” Steve replies after a moment, sounding genuinely touched, “that means a lot to me.”

“Tell you what,” a smile slips back onto James’ face, “next time I come I’ll bring you some decent music, none of this classical rubbish.”

“Sounds good,” Steve agrees.

 

*

 

“I’m not doing this anymore.” James grabs his coat and scarf from Zola and throws the blazer back into the van then turns to storm away.

“What are you talking about?” Zola tosses the blazer back to Justin and scrabbles out of the van after James.

“I’m done,” he shouts back without turning to face him. “Find someone else to get your fucking photo.”

“Fine, then give us the money back.”

James stops.

“Or can’t you?” Zola taunts. “I bet you’ve already gambled it all away.” He smirks when James remains silent. No point in denying the truth. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Zola advances towards him, more leisurely now that he knows that he holds all the cards. James refuses to look at him but that makes no difference to Zola who circles round in front of him, licking his lips – clearly enjoying being in control – and pushes himself into James’ personal space, leaving him with no option but to look down at the man’s piggy eyes. “See you tomorrow James, and you better get my photo.” He clasps James’ shoulder, making him shudder uncomfortably, and flashes him an evil grin before turning back to the van.

James manages to get round the corner and out of sight of the van before punching a wall, his mental arm causing some of the bricks to crumble away. He braces himself against the wall and focuses on the texture of the brick beneath his palms, trying to ground himself while taking slow steadying breaths.

He should have never got involved in this. He was doing fine before, well, maybe not _fine_ but at least he didn’t feel like a fucking caged animal. Now it’s clear that Zola’s backed him into a corner and he has no choice but to follow through on his end of the deal.

After giving the wall one last furious hit, he storms off towards his apartment. He’d hoped that the train ride may have calmed him down a bit, but when James enters the dank bedsit he feels just as anxious and trapped as before. He paces the room trying to find something to distract himself but nothing seems to work. He turns on the TV and is met with only static – he forgot to pay his bill again – so instead seats himself at the falling apart piano, shoved into the corner of the flat. James’s hands hover over the keys and he wills himself to play something, _anything_. Why is this so hard when it used to come so naturally to him? His eyes flick up and he catches sight of the small wooden box sitting atop the piano. Hating himself and regretting his action even as he does it, James empties the box of his meagre savings and heads for the dim lights and comforting buzz of the poker tables.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

James is late. Steve has been curled up in his spot by the mirror for the past two hours, half reading and half anxiously checking the room opposite in case James has entered without him noticing. He hasn’t. Steve lets out a frustrated huff and checks the time, even though he knows damn well that it’s nearly one and James is edging on three hours late.

_What if James isn’t coming? What if he never comes back?_

Steve pushes down the thought for the twentieth time in over two hours. James is probably just running late, and it’s not like they ever had an official meeting time in the first place, James just always tended to come at around ten.

Just as Steve is debating whether or not it’s worth getting his paints out, his attention is caught by movement in the adjacent room as James slopes in and plops himself down on the couch. He looks like shit. Dark circles hang beneath his eyes and his hair falls greasily either side of his face, looking like he probably forgot to brush it.

“Morning!” Steve greets, forcing a cheerful lilt to his voice. “Or should I say afternoon?”

James grunts something indecipherable that could have been a half-hearted apology. Steve’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and annoyance. Normally James is all chatter, greeting him with a bright “Morning, Stevie!” before launching into a story about whatever he’s seen on the journey over here. But maybe he’s just having an off day.

“Did you bring my music?” Steve asks hopefully, despite the fact that James isn’t carrying anything.

“Oh, no. Sorry, I forgot.” James mumbles, stifling a yawn.

“Oh okay,” Steve says, although the disappointment is evident in his voice. “Never mind.”

“I started a new art piece last night,” Steve decides to tell him, since James usually loves hearing about Steve’s art. Despite still getting little response, Steve launches into a description of how he had been inspired by something he saw out of the window the other day and is just describing how he wants to use a new, brighter colour palette for this painting when James interrupts him.

“Don’t you want to get out of there?” James asks with no preamble.

“Excuse me?” Steve responds, although he already knows full well what James means. It’s a question he’s been asking himself more and more frequently over the past few months.

“Don’t you want to get out from behind that glass?” James gets up, advancing towards the mirror almost threateningly. “Hmm?”

Steve doesn’t reply.

Suddenly he pounds his fist against the glass causing Steve to jump back from where he’s sitting, scared that the whole thing might shatter.

“C’MON!” he yells, banging the glass again. “You can’t stay in there forever.”

James’ eyes flick towards the door, as if expecting his outburst to have provoked Steve into revealing himself.

“Fuck,” he huffs, dropping his fist. “Fine, stay trapped in there, see if I care.”

James turns on his heel and storms out without a backward glance, slamming the door behind him for good measure.

“FUCK YOU!” Steve shouts belated after him to the already empty room.

He curls his hands into fist and turns away from the mirror, seething. What the hell is wrong with James? He seemed fine yesterday, and Steve can’t think of anything he’s done to provoke this. Maybe James is just fed up of waiting. Maybe he thinks Steve is a monster too, it just took him longer to figure it out. Hearing the tell-tale clatter of heels up stairs, he crosses the room quickly and locks the door. The last thing he needs is to see Peggy, or any of the others for that matter.

Fuck, he wants to break something. Wants to empty the cupboards of his kitchenette and throw its contents across the room to watch mugs and plates smash against the wall and hear them shatter. But he’s pretty sure that if Peggy heard him then she’ll break down the damn door to make sure he’s okay. So instead he turns to his easel and replaces his current project with a new canvas, not wanting to taint his painting with his bad mood. But while normally he can rely on painting to purge him of all his anger and hurt by pouring it out onto the blank background, right now he doesn’t trust himself to hold a paintbrush without punching a hole in the fucking canvas.

Steve throws himself onto his bed, feeling enraged and frustrated about not being able to do anything about it. He buries his head under the pillow to block out the sound of Peggy banging on the door demanding to be let in.

Eventually he must have dropped off because when he next opens his eyes it’s dark outside. He pulls the curtains and turns on a few lamps before unlocking the door and lying back on the bed to wait for Peggy to arrive. Just as expected, a few minutes later Peggy raps on the door before cautiously entering.

“Steve?” she calls out and he feels the mattress dip beneath him as she perches on the edge.

“I assume you guys saw that shit show?” Steve mumbles, fiddling with a loose thread as he avoids Peggy’s eyes.

“Yeah, we saw.” She pats him on the thigh comfortingly. “Come on, get up.”

“I don’t want to,” he grumbles, rolling onto his front to bury his face in the comforter.

“Tough titties, you’re coming downstairs and you’re going to have dinner with us like an adult.”

“M’not hungry.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Breakfast…”

“Exactly. Now come on, before it gets cold.” Peggy gives his leg a squeeze before standing up and walking out of the room, trusting he will follow.

“You’re not my mom,” Steve says grudgingly as he hoists himself out of bed.

“Thank god for that!” she calls back over her shoulder.

Despite his reluctance, Steve lumbers downstairs and hovers in the doorway to the kitchen. He assumes Pierce won’t be joining them – he can’t imagine that Peggy would make him suffer through a meal with the man after what just happened with James – so there’s no need to use the over-sized dining room.

“Set the table, Steve,” Peggy instructs as she bustles past. He grabs a handful of cutlery from the draw and sets the places.

“Something smells good,” Natasha says, appearing out of thin air, as she tends to do, and taking a seat at the table.

“Thanks, I tried a new soup,” Angie smiles as she places a bowl of bright green soup in front of Natasha.

“It looks… luminous,” Steve comments, taking a seat next to Natasha.

“I’m sure it’s going to be delicious,” Peggy kisses Angie on the cheek and sits down on the other side of Steve.

The soup actually tastes better than it looks and both Angie and Peggy beam when Steve, who hadn’t realised how hungry he’d been, finishes his bowl in record time and gets up for second helpings.

“So, Steve,” Natasha interrupts his and Angie’s not-so-subtle bread fight, “what was all that with James today?”

Steve pauses, giving Angie a clear shot which bounces off of his nose and into the soup. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I mean he seemed fine yesterday,” he continues, “and I can’t think of anything I did to make him angry.”

“It seems like a ‘him’ problem rather than a ‘you’ problem,” Angie shrugs. “He’s probably just going through some stuff at the moment, he’ll blow off some steam then come back.”

“Yeah, but what if he doesn’t come back?” It’s the first time Steve has voiced the concern that’s been niggling at the back of his head since he met James. What if one day he just stops visiting? Just disappears? What’s Steve meant to do then?

Sure it’s not the same as having someone running away from him screaming, but it would probably hurt even more.  James makes him laugh, treats him like a normal person, and Steve considers him a friend, maybe even something more. So the idea of James realising one day that he doesn’t want anything to do with Steve, well, Steve thinks that might just break him.

“He’ll come back,” Peggy reassures him, squeezing his hand comfortingly.

“Yeah…” Steve sighs, wishing he could believe the words with Peggy’s level of certainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Tell me what you thought of this chapter in the comments and my tumblr is [here](http://razz-a-ma-tazz.tumblr.com/) if you wanna come say hi


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky loves 80s music more than life itself.  
> There's yet another playlist, this one is 80s songs that totally make Bucky think of Steve because he's a sap and you can listen to it [here](https://8tracks.com/razz-a-ma-tazz/you-say-the-words-that-i-can-t-say)

_I was doing fine on my own_  
_And there wasn't much I lacked_  
 _But you've stolen my air catcher_  
 _And I don't know if I want it back_

Air Catcher, Twenty One Pilots

~

It’s been three days. Three anxious days since James stormed out which Steve has spent either sleeping, painting, or binge-watching his favourite TV shows, all while constantly trying to convince Peggy that he’s fine. On Thursday morning, which will mark the fourth day with no visit from James, Steve is just considering whether he wants to start a new TV series or just go back and watch _Lost_ from the beginning again when there’s a rapid knocking on his door. He hauls himself out of bed and opens the door to find Angie grinning from ear to ear.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

Steve almost trips over his feet in his rush to get over to the mirror and pull back the curtain covering it. James is standing awkwardly in the doorway, flowers in one hand and a stack of records under the other arm. Steve quickly turns and shoos Angie out of the room, closing the door behind her, before walking over to the mirror and turning on the microphone.

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.” Steve is glad to see that James looks marginally better than when he had last seen him; he looks like he’s had some sleep and his clothes are clean, despite him wearing the same blazer as always.

“Yeah,” James replies, still hovering in the doorway, as if uncertain whether Steve wants him there after what happened last time.

“You were a real dick.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” James bites the bullet and steps fully into the room. “I – I wasn’t in a good place. Something had happened that upset me and I had a rough night and I took it out on you which was way out of line and I’m sorry.”

“What was the thing that upset you?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Okay.” Steve’s tempted to push, his curiosity piqued by Bucky’s secrecy, but he decides against it. Steve’s got too many secrets of his own to go sticking his nose into other people’s. It’s quiet for a minute as James puts the stack of records down on the side. “You were right though.”

“About what?”

“About me needing to get out of here.”

“No, Steve, I was just being an asshole, you –”

“It’s true though!” Steve protests.

“Well, in all honesty, you’re not really missing out on much,” James murmurs and sits himself down on the stool by the mirror.

“Except the beer,” Steve jokes.

James barks out a laugh. “Yeah, except the beer.”

“And the markets? I hear they sell really cool stuff right on the streets.”

“Yeah, the markets are fun. You meet all different kinds of people there.”

“And the park? I’ve always wanted to feed the ducks.”

“The park’s great,” James laughs. “I used to go there all the time and just sit and people watch or write silly love poems,” he smiles nostalgically.

“You don’t do that anymore?”

“No.” James drops his eyes, frowning at his left hand.

“Are those flowers for me?” Steve asks, picking up on James’ shift in mood and quickly changing the subject.

“Oh what, these?” He holds the flowers up for Steve to see. “No, I’ve actually got a date after this and these are for her.”

“Oh.”

“I’m just fucking with you, of course they’re for you.” James laughs, flashing a bit of his old self. He crosses the room and puts the bright bouquet in an expensive vase which clashes horribly.

“You’re such a jerk,” Steve says but there’s no malice behind the words.

“Yeah and you’re a punk for believing me, now do you want to hear the records I brought you or not?”

“That depends, what did you bring me?”

“Only the best.” James removes a single from its sleeve and places it on the record player then starts it spinning, dropping the needle with expert precision. “Prepare to have your mind blown.” After a few seconds the opening notes of _Bizarre Love Triangle_ burst through the speakers.

“Oh so by the ‘best’ I see you mean 80s music?”

“Of course I mean 80s, that was the best time for music,” James says, dancing along (although very poorly). “Although I don’t expect you to understand, you weren’t _there_.”

“Neither were you!” Steve laughs. “You were like a little kid in the 1980s!”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” James asks, turning the record player up as high as it can go. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of awesome 80s music!”

“James!” Steve tries to yell, attempting to remind him that Pierce is still in the house, but can’t help laughing at James’ appalling dancing.

“WHAT IS ALL THIS NOISE? SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO WORK AROUND HERE!” Pierce appears red-faced and angry in the doorway and James hurriedly turns down the record player. “Oh, you must be James,” Pierce’s voice returns to its normal volume as he notices James’ presence.

“It’s good to meet you Mr Pierce.” James steps forward, his hand outstretched for Pierce to shake.

“Yes, good to meet you too, James. I’ve heard a lot of good things about your father.” Pierce grips his hand firmly as they shake. “Could I ask you to possibly try and make a bit less noise? It’s just I’m preparing for a very important meeting.” Steve scowls from behind the glass as Pierce smiles at James, oozing with fake charm.

“Yes, of course, won’t happen again.” James smiles at Pierce as he leaves the room but pulls a face as soon as his retreating figure is out of view. “Oops,” he giggles as he closes the door.

“Yeah, oops,” Steve agrees. The record player clicks as the record stops spinning and James goes to replace it. “You’re a terrible dancer by the way.”

A slower song begins to play and James resumes his seat in front of the mirror. “Yeah, well that’s not proper dancing anyway. I like the kind of dancing they used to do in the 40s, y’know? Now _that_ was dancing, none of this jumping around to club music.”

“Wow grandpa, I didn’t realise you were so old, tell me about the war,” Steve teases.

“Oh shut up, you know what I meant,” James laughs.

“I don’t know how to dance anyway,” Steve shrugs.

“That’s okay, I’d teach you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Okay, yeah, I’d like that,” Steve grins.

“It’s a date then,” James smiles back. “You were telling me about a new painting you were working on last time, do you think I could see it?”

Steve blushes, touched that James remembers about his new piece. “It’s not done yet.”

“Well do you think I could see some of your other stuff? I bet you’re really good.” James leans against the mantle, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. “Please, Stevie?”

“You shouldn’t beg, it doesn’t look good on you,” Steve mocks.

“I’ve had no complaints before,” James waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“I bet you haven’t,” Steve murmurs, not quite loud enough for James to hear. “Give me your phone number,” Steve instructs, “that way I’ll be able to talk to you while you look at them.”

James pulls his cracked phone out of his pocket (he’ll get round to replacing it one day) and gets up his number then holds it against the mirror. A call comes through a few seconds later.

“Hey,” James greets.

“Hey,” Steve replies, his voice doubled through the speakers in the room and his phone.

“So where can I see the fantastic art of Steve Rogers?”

“It’s not fantastic,” Steve says automatically. “Go out of the room and turn right, then it’s the third door on your left. But,” Steve stops James just before he leaves the room, “don’t get your hopes up too much, it really is just a hobby.”

“Steve, I’m sure they’re great, don’t be so harsh on yourself.”

Steve watches James leave the room and hears a sharp intake of breath as James enters his art room a few seconds later, but he can’t see his reaction. He wonders if this is how James feels when they talk and he can’t see Steve’s facial expressions. It’s frustrating.

James whistles lowly in his ear. “Wow, Stevie.”

“Which one are you looking at?” Steve tucks his legs in underneath him, anxious to hear James’ verdict.

“All of them, these are…” James breaks off, sounding kind of breathless. “Steve, these are amazing. You’ve got a real gift.”

“Nah, I told you, it’s just a hobby,” Steve shrugs.

“I’m serious, Steve, you’re special.”

Steve shares a small smile with himself and tries to stop himself from blushing. “Which one’s your favourite?”

“Give me a second to look, will ya!” James laughs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve huffs in response.

He remains silent as James looks around the room, taking in the different works. Every time James hums or whispers a quiet ‘wow’ Steve fights the urge to ask which one he’s looking at. Eventually, when James has examined each piece in turn, he comes up with his answer.

“I can’t decide,” he huffs out a laugh.

“Well at least narrow it down.”

“Okay,” James says after some deliberation. “I love this one of the woman who threatened to sue me if I didn’t keep my mouth shut on the first day.”

“That’ll be Natasha,” Steve laughs. “Why do you like it?”

“I just love your style and how the bright colours of her hair fade into the lighter colours of her skin and the background. And I love how you’ve made her look so…” James pauses as he searches for the right word, “graceful but still powerful. She’s just got this air about her.”

“Well, I can’t take credit for that, it’s just how Natasha is,” Steve shrugs.

“Yes, but you’ve managed to capture this perfectly.” James continues before Steve has time to brush away the praise. “I love this one too. The pen drawing of Angie and another woman.”

“You do?” Steve is honestly surprised. The drawing James is looking at is just a quick sketch Steve did when Angie fell asleep curled up in Peggy’s on movie night. He probably would have just put it on his fridge or something but Peggy had caught sight of it and insisted that it went with Steve’s other works in his gallery.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” James says wistfully. “Is that Angie’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah, that’s Peggy.”

“She clearly loves Angie a lot.”

“Yeah, it’s quite sickening sometimes,” Steve jokes, pulling a laugh out of James.

“These really are amazing, Steve.” James circles round to look more closely at the paintings.  “Do you take commissions?”

“Nah, I told you it’s not like I’m a professional or anything.” Steve shrugs him off.

“You could be.” James hears a snort of laughter down the phone. “No, I’m serious. You could have like your own gallery or something.”

“It’s a nice thought,” Steve concedes, allowing his mind to wander to dreams of grand openings and galas.

The truth is this isn’t the first time he’s thought of art as a career, but he’s always pushed those thoughts away as being absurd and never shared them with anyone. He likes his art, well, _sometimes_ he likes his art. The girls always think his art is good, but he always thinks they’re just saying that. But if James thinks he’s got what it takes then maybe it is worth considering. _Maybe_ , a hopeful voice whispers in his ear, _maybe if people liked my art they wouldn’t care about my face_.

“Just think on it, okay?” James pulls him out of his thoughts. “You’ve got a talent worth sharing.”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

James is waiting in the room for Steve, normally he’d just start talking and assume Steve is there but today he’s early so he’s not sure. He thinks about putting on one of the records he’s left for Steve but decides against it, instead choosing to look around the bookcases again. But this time he spots something that catches his eye: a small green frog that he’s never noticed before. He opens the glass case and takes it out. He looks over it, his curiosity mounting.

It looks like something you would bring back from holiday and has a hole in the mouth as well as a few holes down its back. He blows into the mouth of the frog and it makes a sound similar to a recorder or wooden flute. James giggles at the novelty of it and tries to blow a tune.

“Do you play?” Steve voice bursts through the speakers abruptly.

“Christ!” James jumps and stumbles back a few feet, landing awkwardly on the arm of the couch. “Don’t do that to me, Stevie!” he laughs as he clutches at his hammering chest.

“Do you play?” Steve repeats without apologising for nearly giving James a heart attack.

“What, frog?” James gestures with the instrument. “Nah, always meant to pick it up though.” His heart rate having returned to normal, James gets up and walks over to the mirror.

“But you do play something?”

James crosses his arms on the mantle and shrugs in response, a playful smirk dancing across his lips.

“What do you play?”

“Guess,” James challenges, narrowing his eyes.

 

Within the hour the room is filled with various musical instruments.

“You don’t think this is a bit extreme, Stevie?” James asks as he taps his fingers absentmindedly on the drum kit.

“Not at all,” Steve shrugs. “You should have thought of this before you started this game.” As he speaks, a group of men enter the room wearing matching suit jackets. “This is your back-up band.”

“Yes, because I was totally meant to predict you’d go so far to get a freaking band!” he laughs.

“Shut up and play,” Steve commands.

After a few hours they’ve ruled out the saxophone, bass, guitar, and drums (although James argues that his drum solo was fantastic).

“Thanks guys,” James smiles and shakes the hands of the men who were nice enough to put up with his terrible playing as they leave with their instruments.

“What? No, we’re not done yet, I still haven’t guessed your instrument!” Steve protests from the other side of the glass.

“Come on, Steve!” James complains as he flops exhausted onto the couch.

“Just one more?” Steve pleads. “Try the piano, I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

James grumbles something that sounds vaguely like “the things I do for you” but gets up and seats himself at the piano anyway. He runs his hands over the keys experimentally and takes a deep breath before launching into song.

“You are my sunshine,” he sings, sounding completely off key, paired with a few wrong notes. “My only sunshine,” he continues and Steve winces. “You make me happy when skies are grey…”

“No, it’s B flat,” Steve tries to correct.

“You are my sunshine…” James tries again.

“B flat on the right hand!”

“My only sunshine…” his voice drops but is still very much in the wrong key.

“No, you… play the, the left hand should-” Steve tries to explain.

“You make me happy when skies are greyyy…” James laughs, enjoying winding Steve up.

“Look, the left hand stays and the right hand plays the chord,” Steve explains, his voice suddenly in James’ ear as two small hands reach around from behind him to guide his own. Steve positions his hands and they press down together, finally getting the chord right.

“Hey, thank-” James turns to thank Steve, his eyes sweeping up to Steve’s face.

He jumps, his hand pressing down on some keys which plink angrily as he scrabbles to his feet. James steps back in order to look at Steve fully for the first time. He takes in Steve’s frame – so much smaller than what he’d imagined from his voice – his eyes sweep up to blond hair and piercing blue eyes then land on his snout. That must be what this is all about. That’s why Steve has been so secretive and why Zola has sent him here.

Steve waits as James looks at him, biting his lip painfully hard and twisting the sleeves of his sweater nervously between his hands. This is it. This is when James would run, just like the others.

James stares at Steve’s face who drops his eyes to the floor self-consciously. He advances slowly, warily raising his right arm, reaching out towards Steve’s face and hears a quiet but distinct click.

“Shit,” he mutters at the camera in his pocket, clenching his fist and retreating his arm quickly. Steve’s face crumbles.

“I’m a monster,” Steve whispers and covers his snout as he flees from the room.

“No! You’re not- Steve!” James calls after him but Steve has already left. “Goddammit!”

 

*

 

James storms over to the van that’s parked outside of the house like always.

“Did you get it?” The doors swing open as James approaches.

“Yeah, I got it,” James says as he shrugs off the jacket and pulls the camera out of the lapel.

Zola practically throws himself out of the van in an attempt to get his hands on the camera. However, before he could get his greedy hands anywhere near it, James crushes it in his metal hand.

“What the fuck?!” Zola yells as his evidence is smashed and dropped to the ground.

“He’s not what you think he is,” James lowers his voice threateningly.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on the monster,” Justin laughs. “Oh my god, this is priceless.” James’ arm whips out and reaches into the van to grab Justin by his collar. “Please don’t hit me!”

“He’s not a monster,” James snarls. He clenches his metal fist by his side, if he wanted to he could crush Justin just as easily as that camera. He’s saved from having to decide whether he should hit Justin by a scream from the house.

The three men turn to look at the source of the noise and see Angie standing in the outside the house looking horrified.

“Oh my god! Arnim Zola! James is working for Armin Zola!” she shouts as she turns back to run up the stairs of the house. James runs after her, managing to get his foot in the doorway and stop it from closing. He shoves the door open and runs into the house.

 

*

 

“Steve?” Peggy calls as she enters Steve’s room where he’s lying face down on the bed, crying into his sheets.

“They always run,” Steve manages to get out between broken sobs.

“But this time _you_ ran.” Peggy helps Steve sit up and rubs soothing circles on his back as he leans his head on her shoulder.

“He just _stood there_ ,” Steve chokes out, “no one’s ever done that before.”

There’s a crash from downstairs and James’ voice rings through the house. “STEVE?!”

“James?” Steve perks up immediately and runs from his room, out into the hallway to look over the bannister.

James is standing looking flustered in the hall. His head snaps up at Steve’s voice. “Steve! Steve, I-”

“Don’t listen to him!” Angie interrupts, appearing panting behind James. “He’s working for Arnim Zola!”

“Who’s Arnim Zola?” Steve asks.

“He’s the man who’s been trying to get photos of you for the last five years,” Peggy explains as she joins Steve out on the landing.

“What’s happening?” Pierce appears downstairs with Natasha at his side.

“Is this true?” Steve asks, ignoring his uncle’s presence. “Are you really working for Zola?”

“Yes, but that was just at the beginning-”

“Oh don’t give us that bullshit,” Angie cuts him off.

“But he can still break the curse,” Pierce points out.

“James,” Steve starts as he slowly descends the stairs, “I know this face must disgust you and I’d never ask you to try and live with it.” James tries to interrupt but Steve continues to talk. “But once the curse is broken then I’ll be the same as everyone else. I’ll be _normal_.”

“But what if the curse can’t be broken?” James asks. “What happens then, Steve?”

“Then I’ll kill myself,” Steve responds without hesitation. “I’ll do it, James,” his voices cracks, “I promise I will.” Steve stops where he’s been walking down the steps. “Marry me, James,” he pleads.

James bites his lip, staring up at Steve before letting out a defeated sigh. “I _can’t_.”

“Get out,” Steve replies simply, his voice laced with anger and disgust.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Didn’t you hear him? GET OUT!” Angie yells as she and Natasha practically manhandle him out of the door.

Steve collapses on the stairs, a new flood of tears overtaking his body. There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder but Steve wrenches himself away and runs up the stairs. Someone calls after him but he doesn’t know or care who. He reaches his room and locks the door before leaning against it and letting the sobs wrack his body.

After a few minutes there’s a knock at his door and someone tries to twist the handle.

“Steven?” Pierce’s voice calls from the other side.

“Go away!” Steve cries back, past the point of caring how wrecked his voice sounds.

“Steve, we can always try again. There’s got to be someone out there.”

Steve snorts at Alexander’s twisted form of comfort.

“I promise I’ll never stop trying.”

This sounds more threatening than consoling to Steve, who hauls himself to his feet and turns his music on full volume to drown out whatever other ‘comfort’ his uncle has to offer. _Don’t You Forget About Me_ bursts from the speakers and he immediately skips it. He’d bought some 80s compilations after James had brought him those albums, he’d probably delete them all now since they just remind him of James.

Steve closes his eyes, trying to let the music block out his thoughts, but Pierce’s words keep spinning round his head.

_I promise I’ll never stop trying._

_I’ll never stop trying._

_Never stop._

Something inside of him snaps.

When James had left, he’d felt every heartbreak from day one, seen the faces full of terror, heard the horrified screams, they all came crashing down on him at once. The impact felt like a physical pain.

And he realised it wouldn’t stop. It would never stop. Pierce would make sure of that, keep searching and subjecting Steve to this until the curse was broken or one of them was dead.

Before he even knows what he’s doing, Steve is pulling on a coat and gloves. He rummages around for some shoes and fills his pockets with everything he thinks he’ll need for the outside world. Just on his way out of the bedroom, Steve catches his reflection in the mirror and realises he can’t go out. At least, not without anything to cover his face, Pierce would catch him in two seconds flat if Steve still looked like himself.

He swaps his contacts for the thick rimmed glasses that take up at least half of his face, pulls on a dark beanie, and searches for the scarf Natasha had knitted for him last year. She’d really gotten into the hobby, so that year everyone had received knitted jumpers, hats, or scarves for their Christmas present. Steve pulls it out. It’s stripy and almost comically long, especially with his size, but it conceals his snout and mouth perfectly. He stares at himself in the mirror. If he didn’t know any better, he could believe that there was a real nose under there.

Steve leaves the music playing and slips out of his bedroom door as quietly as possible. Creeping down the stairs, he can hear Pierce arguing with the girls in the kitchen. He makes a beeline for Pierce’s office and rummages through drawers quickly, not knowing how long he’ll be out for.

Steve remembers Pierce telling him that he always keeps some money in the house since “you can’t trust banks these days”. Just as hoped for, in the third drawer done of Pierce’s desk he finds a few thousand dollars in cash as well as a credit card. He pockets a few rolls of notes as well as the card then turns to the window. He jiggles it open and slips out onto the fire escape, shutting the window quickly behind him so as not to let too much cold air in.

It’s only once he’s outside that the gravity of what he’s doing hits him. He should go back inside before anyone knows he’s gone.  He could probably sneak back into his room and no one would even notice. Maybe he could talk to Pierce, see if they could sort something out that didn’t involve constant heart break.

No.

He _needs_ to do this.

Steve puts a gloved hand on the ladder and pushes. It doesn’t budge. He pushes again and gives it a shake for good measure but all he manages to do is make a loud clattering sound. Steve swears under his breath. Whether from rust, cold, or a combination of both, the ladder just doesn’t want to budge.

It may just be his paranoia, but the distant voices from within the house seem to be getting closer. _Oh god, what if Pierce is coming to his office?_

He gives the ladder one last shove for good measure before giving up on it. Steve looks over the edge of the platform, there’s only one thing for it. He lowers himself gently over the edge of the platform so he’s just hanging from his fingertips. He lets go and falls the couple of feet to the ground. Although his right ankle gives a small twinge at the impact, he lands relatively unharmed.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Steve chooses a direction at random and starts running without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Finally made it to the escape chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments and say hi on [tumblr](razz-a-ma-tazz.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes an important life decision and Steve is terrible at money management.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is twice as long as usual because I had way too much fun writing about Steve's adventures in the real world and I couldn't really find a good place to split it. Enjoy!

_Run, run like the wind, don't wait for a thing_   
_There is nothing here for you_   
_But if you stay, well, then let me say_   
_I'll go out of my way for you_

Run, Stephen Fretwell

~

Zola jumps, nearly knocking a half empty coffee cup over, as James storms into his office. “Here,” James spits, throwing a wad of cash down on Zola’s desk. “That’s half of what you paid me, you’ll get the rest when I’m ready”

“I’m sorry our little arrangement didn’t work out,” Zola says, not even attempting to sound sincere as he deposits the money into his desk drawer.

James rolls his eyes and is about to leave when he catches sight of the newspaper on Zola’s desk. His eye was drawn to the large sketch that somewhat resembles Steve, however the man in the drawing has been given fangs and a menacing snarl. _“$5000 reward for photo of pig boy_?” he reads the headline.

“Yes, after your little… _incident_ , Justin has decided to go public, try to generate widespread public awareness and get the photo that way.”

“He’s going to look like a raving lunatic,” James laughs, “and besides how are people going to get into Pierce’s house? I can’t imagine he’ll appreciate you encouraging them to break in.”

“Don’t need to, didn’t you hear?” a slow smile spreads over Zola’s face. “Steve’s disappeared, ran away the day you broke his piggy heart.”

James felt his blood turn cold.

“I don’t suppose I could get your side of the story? How the boy is really just a harmless, sweet beast?” Zola rummages around for a pen and notepad. “I expect he’ll need some positive publicity once people see his face.”

“Fuck you,” James growls, slamming the door as he leaves.

It’s only when James is storming down the street, instinctively heading towards the place he can always count on to make him forget, at least for a little while, that he truly realises what’s happened.

_Steve’s gone._

He’s left everything he knows. He’s all alone in New York. God, the kid must be fucking terrified. But as well as feeling concerned for Steve – out in a city he doesn’t know that’s not always the friendliest place – James also feels proud, inspired even. Steve must have been scared but he knew he needed to get away, he sucked it up and did what had to be done. He’s finally free.

James takes a deep breath then exhales it slowly. He sets his shoulders resolutely then makes a 180 degree turn, earning him more grumbling from the mass of people around him, and heads purposefully in the opposite direction.

 

*

 

“Come on, Nick,” James pleads with the intimidating man. “I need a job, and anyway you owe me.”

“1. I do not owe you, and 2. Even if I did what makes you think I’ve got a job for you?” Nick unlocks the door to the old music hall and leads them through.

“I could perform,” James gestures to the stage at one end of the grand hall. “Just like in the old days.”

Nick stops and turns to face James sceptically.

“I get at least half a dozen people a day asking for me to put them on that stage,” he points to where a piano is sitting mournfully by itself. “Why should I hire a washed up gambler like you who has bailed on more shows than I can count rather than any of them?”

“Because we’re friends?”

Nick looks unconvinced.

“Look, I know I messed up before, I didn’t appreciate what I had.”

“And I suppose now you do?” Nick questions, sounding incredulous.

“Yeah, now I do,” James pauses, dropping his voice despite them being the only two in the building. “I’m trying to get my life together, Nick, you know what that’s like.”

Nick sighs. “Let me see what I can find.”

“Thank you, I promise you won’t regret it!” he claps the taller man on the shoulder.

“Yeah yeah, just stay here,” Nick instructs him before leaving the room.

Once Nick is out of sight, James crosses the room and hoists himself up onto the stage. He seats himself at the piano and runs his fingers over the familiar keys. The last time he’d played anything was with Steve, and that was the first time he’d played since… well since before he lost his arm and everything went to shit. His stomach gives an uncomfortable twist at the memory.

James lowers his fingers cautiously. He’s not even sure if he can play anymore, he doesn’t know if he can remember how. Tentatively, he begins to play, gaining confidence as his muscle memory starts to kick in. He’s not surprised at the tune his fingers seem to have chosen for him; his mom used to love this song.

“Hey, Mozart, cut it out!” Nick calls, re-entering the room carrying a mop and bucket.

“Sorry, I –”

“This is all I can offer you right now,” Nick cuts across James’ apology, gesturing with the cleaning supplies. “Think you can get this place cleaned up for tonight?”

“Yeah, sure.” James jumps down from the stage to take the mop and bucket from Nick.

“The rest of the cleaning stuff is in the closet down the hall.” Nick throws a bundle of keys, which James catches in his left hand, before retreating to his office upstairs.

He stands staring at the dirty floor before letting out a long sigh. Thirty-two years old and still cleaning fucking floors for a living. _Baby steps,_ James thinks to himself as he goes to find the cleaning supplies.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

Steve’s been walking for around two hours trying to find a hotel. He’s already walked past half a dozen, but they’re all too close to Pierce. Of course, it doesn’t help that he keeps stopping to take photos or pet dogs or just breathe in the fresh air.

He’s still overwhelmed just at the sheer _volume_ of people in New York. It’s not like he wasn’t expecting it, he’s seen movies after all, but seeing it on a screen and experiencing things in real life are two very different things. Every now and again he’ll have to duck into the doorway of a shop or the mouth of an alley just to take a breather, having to use his inhaler on a couple occasions (hindered somewhat by his scarf) before plunging back into the masses.

Steve stops at a subway station to his feet’s relief. He doesn’t know where he wants to go but Brooklyn seems like a good place to start. It’s far enough away from Pierce and he can visit the Howling Commandos. He ignores the possibility of running into James. The more rational part of his brain knows that he put James on the spot by asking him to marry him like that, but the rest of him still feels pissed as hell at the rejection. He doesn’t want to think about James right now, let alone see him. _Then why are you going to his favourite bar?_ An annoying voice chirps in the back of his head. Steve pushes away the voice, which sounds surprisingly like Peggy, and descends the stairs to the subway. After frantically googling to figure out _where_ exactly he needs to go, and an uncomfortable train journey that’s left him needing a hot shower, Steve emerges in Brooklyn. Deciding that he’s probably far enough away from Pierce, Steve starts to look for a hotel. It doesn’t take him very long before he’s outside of an expensive looking hotel that reminds him of _Pretty Woman_. He enters the lobby where an intricate chandelier showers specs of light on the coving. The large room is nearly empty except for a woman struggling towards the elevator weighed down by shopping bags and a businessman talking on his phone, both of whom pay him no attention.

“I would like a room,” he tells the inviting woman behind the front desk.

“Of course,” she smiles warmly and taps at some keys on a computer before telling him, “Room 19 is available. How long would you like to stay for?”

“Just a week,” Steve decides, thinking that would probably be a reasonable price but his eyebrows shoot up when she tells him how much that will cost. Apparently he’s managed to choose the most expensive hotel in all of Brooklyn. _‘Oh well, Pierce is paying’_ he smiles to himself as he gets out his card to pay for the room but stops before he hands it over. Wait. If he pays by card Pierce will know where he is, making the credit card totally useless. _Shit._

He sighs as he pulls out one of the bundles of notes and hands it to the, now very confused, woman behind the desk. Nevertheless, she counts the money and hands over his room key and his change with another smile.

_Great_. That’s almost half his money gone already on a room for a week. At this rate he’s going to have to find some more money and soon if he doesn’t want to go back to Pierce. He couldn’t stand the thought of just turning up on Pierce’s doorstep broke and defeated, and the smug look Pierce would get on his face. Steve would be lucky if he would be allowed any iota of freedom after this stunt.

But, in the moment Steve opens the curtains in his room to reveal Brooklyn lit up in the dusk, the extortionate price seems totally worth it.

Steve drags a chair over to the floor to ceiling window, kicks off his shoes and drops his scarf at his feet before curling up in the seat. He stares out at the Brooklyn Bridge twinkling warmly at him and his fingers itch for one of his sketchpads. He decides to go and buy a new sketchpad and some pencils tomorrow.

For a few minutes Steve is content with just looking out over the borough, but after a while he starts to get agitated. He’s spent the past 21 years looking at life through a window but now that he can he just wants to be out cramming in as much life until Pierce finds him (and undoubtedly locks him up forever).

Despite his feet’s protest, Steve shoves his shoes back on and rearranges his scarf to cover his snout before riding the elevator back down to reception. He checks his watch, only half five, the night is still young.

The receptionist smiles again when he approaches her for the second time in the span of ten minutes. “Do you know what there is to do in Brooklyn?” he asks sheepishly, well aware that this woman must think he’s an idiot.

But, whether she thinks he’s an idiot or not, she answers cheerfully, “Coney Island is popular this time of year. I always like seeing lights and the fireworks in the evening, and of course the junk food,” she wink conspiratorially at him.

“That sounds perfect.” Steve remembers Natasha saying how much she’s always wanted to go; he’ll have to remember to pick up a postcard or something for her. “How far is it?”

“Only about an hour by train.”

Steve thanks the receptionist, who hopes he has a good time, and walks back towards the station. There he finds a surprisingly helpful guard who points him in the right direction and he spends most of the journey trying to contain his excitement.

It’s dark by the time he gets to Coney Island, the rides lit up and twinkling invitingly. He walks through the park and can’t help but gasp, though the sound is muffled by his scarf and lost in the noise and bustle around him. He’s seen photos and shots in movies but he just wasn’t prepared for the sheer size of everything; that’s something he thinks he’ll never be able to get over after being stuck under ceilings all his life.

Steve lets himself get lost in the crowd, moving with them, catching snippets of people’s conversations – some of which sound very intriguing, especially out of context. He drools over the smell of the food and watches in awe as rides spin above his head, all the while taking an insane number of photos of anything and everything.

He looks for a tame ride just to dip his toes in, nothing with loop-the-loops, and decides on a swing ride which looks like fun and has a shorter queue than some of the others. As he sits in the chair and someone comes round to check the bar is secure, he feels the anticipation building inside of him. Slowly the ride starts to lift and spin the chairs gently at first and Steve can see out over the people below him, some of whom are waving to their friends or children on the ride. As the ride speeds up and the lights and colours of the fairground start to blur Steve wishes he had got his phone out to take some photos, but then again he knows that they wouldn’t have be able to capture his feeling of weightlessness and freedom at that moment. All too soon it seems, the ride is slowing and coming to a stop. Steve stumbles off with the rest of the ride’s occupants and, although no one can see it behind the scarf, he’s grinning like an idiot.

After looking around for a while Steve’s stomach gives an unhappy grumble at being teased with all this delicious smelling food after not being fed since breakfast. So Steve decides to get a hotdog and sits on a bench, people-watching as he eats it. He finishes it quickly and joins the queue for the Wonder Wheel. This time he does get his phone out and take some photos, and a good thing too because when he gets to the top of the wheel the sight is breath-taking. He can see the whole park stretched out beneath him, all lit up and flashing in a stunning contrast to the dark sky above him. 

 

Just as Steve is trying (and failing) to win a teddy bear for Natasha, he overhears someone talking excitedly about something called a cyclone, which he assumes must be one of the rides. He turns and sees a group of men, not much older than him, all egging on a brown haired man to go on with them. The man gives in after very little urging and they all cheer and head off towards the ride. Intrigued, Steve decides to give up on the bear (vowing to get Natasha a postcard instead) and follows the gaggle of men. There are cheers and a joyful whooping as they stop in front of a giant twisting rollercoaster. Steve gulps.  The group of men hurry off to join the queue but Steve stays frozen for a second.

The rides he’s been on so far have been pretty tame and mostly populated with little kids – the carousel did have some couples on at least, but Steve did get some weird looks on the teacup ride – nothing as extreme as this. He watches as a car full of people scream as it rattles past. Steve squares his shoulders and joins the queue behind the men, his anxiety growing with each step until he’s finally at the front of the queue and is directed into a seat.

“I’m probably going to scream,” the man beside him warns and Steve recognises him as the man whose friends convinced him to come on this ride.

“That’s okay,” Steve replies.

“What did you say?” the man asks, moving his head closer to Steve. “I couldn’t hear, your scarf is covering your mouth.”

“I said –” Steve starts but that’s as far as he gets as the ride jolts then lurches forwards and turns a corner before starting the incline.

The man beside him did in fact scream. And swear. A lot. But Steve himself was frozen, gripping hold of the bar in front of him while everyone else around him screamed and lifted their hands above their heads.

Once the ride finishes, Steve practically climbs over the guy beside him to get out. He manages to find a fairly secluded trash can before he throws up his hotdog from earlier, which turns out of be quite a challenge while keeping his nose covered.

“Hey, are you okay?” a voice comes from behind him as Steve is straightening up and readjusting his scarf. He turns to find it’s the man from the ride. “Here,” the man offers him his bottle of water which Steve eyes warily. “Don’t worry, I haven’t put anything in it,” the man takes a sip himself before offering it to Steve again. “See?”

“Thanks.” Steve accepts the bottle gratefully and rinses his mouth out.

“I’m Bruce, by the way.”

“Steve.” He tries to hand the water bottle back but Bruce waves him off.

“Nice to meet you,” Bruce smiles. “We were just going to head on over to the beach to catch the fireworks.” Bruce gestures at the group of men standing a little way back. “We wondered if you wanted to come with?”

“Um yeah, sure.”

“Cool.” Bruce leads him over to the men and introduces him. “Steve, this is Tony, Rhodey, Scott, and Clint,” he lists, gesturing to each in turn.

“Hey, good to meet you,” the man Bruce had called Rhodey greets. “Sorry you got stuck next to this one on that ride,” he jokes, pulling Bruce into a headlock as they set off towards the beach.

“Hey, I wasn’t that bad!” Bruce protests as he struggles free from Rhodey’s grip.

“Dude, we could hear you swearing two carts up,” Clint points out.

Steve laughs as Bruce grumbles and the others continue to take the piss. He’s enjoying watching the group banter and throw good humoured insults around, even if he doesn’t understand some of the inside jokes, it’s still nice to feel a part of something.

After a little while they come to a stop at a claw machine where Scott is fishing in his pocket for change.

“You’re never going to win it,” Tony points out as Scott feeds the machine a dollar and starts to manoeuvre the claw, “those things are rigged.”

“I don’t care, I’m going to win a toy for Cassie,” Scott retorts.

“Who’s Cassie?” Steve asks as they watch a bear slip through the prongs.

“His daughter,” Bruce replies.

A few minutes (and several failed attempts) later there’s a whoop of joy as Scott retrieves a stuffed rabbit with a wonky eye.

“In your face Tony!” he yells, brandishing the toy in victory.

“You do realise you just spent like $10 on that stupid game?”

“I don’t care, Cassie’s going to love it.” Scott holds the bunny close to his chest and can’t wipe the pleased grin off his face all the way to the beach.

Everyone makes their way onto the beach to join the crowds congregated there, all waiting in excited anticipation. Steve steps back to avoid being knocked into by a couple of kids running past.

“Wait.” Steve grabs hold of Bruce’s arm for support as he slips off his shoes and socks and wriggles his toes in the sand, feeling the cold gritty texture on his soles. “Thanks,” Steve says as he releases Bruce’s arm and they start walking again to catch up with the rest of the group.

“So you’ll take your socks off but you’re leaving your scarf on?” Bruce raises an eyebrow.

Steve shrugs. “I’ve never been on a beach before,” he explains.

“Really?”

Steve is about to reply when the first firework goes off, causing the crowd to cheer which then turns into an ooh and Steve to jump about a foot in the air. He looks up just in time to catch the sparks of the previous firework fizzling out as the next one is launched into the sky. His mouth falls open and looks up in awe at the different colours, now appearing in rapid succession, relishing the explosions that almost reverberate through his body. Each new firework Steve decides is his favourite, only to have it replaced by the one that follows.

“I suppose you’ve never seen fireworks before either?” Bruce jokes, taking in Steve’s amazed stare.

Steve shakes his head. “Not in real life.” A small screen and tinny speakers could hardly compare to this.

The fireworks end all too soon and Steve lets out a noise of protest along with everyone else. They join the crowd of people heading for the exit.

“Can we give you a lift?” Bruce asks as the group makes their way over to the car park.

“It’s probably out of your way, and besides, I don’t think you’ve got enough seats.”

“It’s fine, Rhodey can sit on my lap,” Tony offers.

“Do I get a say in this?” Rhodey asks but doesn’t put up a fight.

“See, plenty of space,” Bruce says, ignoring Rhodey’s comment. “Where are you heading?”

“The Shield Hotel?”

“We literally have to pass that on our way home. That settles it, get in,” Bruce instructs.

They all swap numbers on the journey to Steve’s hotel and the guys promise to invite Steve the next time they do anything. Steve thanks them for about the hundredth time as they drop him off outside his hotel. When he enters he find that the woman on the desk from earlier has been replaced by a kid with bleached hair who looks jittery and hyped up from too much coffee – he must be on the night shift. Steve’s kind of disappointed since he wanted to tell her how much he enjoyed himself and thank her for suggesting it, but he’s sure he’ll see her around.

He falls into bed, pleasantly exhausted in a way he hasn’t felt for too long, and drifts to sleep almost instantly.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

Steve comes down the next morning (well, technically afternoon) and is happy to find that the nice woman from the previous day back on reception.

“Did you enjoy Coney Island?” she asks when he approaches the desk.

“It was _amazing_ ,” he replies grinning. “Thank you for recommending it to me.”

“No problem, you need anywhere else to visit just ask. We don’t get many tourists here so it’s nice to just share a bit of Brooklyn,” she confesses. “So what are the plans for today?”

“Well, I was going to try and find a bar that my friend recommended, it’s called the Howling Commandos?”

“Oh that’s just round the corner, I go there all the time. Tell you what, if you’re still in there by the time I get off work you can buy me a drink.”

“Deal,” Steve agrees. “I’m Steve by the way.”

“Jane,” she replies.

“Well, I’ll see you later then, Jane.”

“I hope so,” she shoots back as he turns to leave.

The bar isn’t hard to find at all, it’s literally round the corner as per Jane’s instructions. The exterior looks a bit beaten up, by both age and weather, but it gives off a friendly, welcoming vibe. Inside Steve finds there are already a few men chatting amiably at one of the tables. He slides onto one of the stools and swivels around, taking in the war memorabilia dotted around the walls.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

Steve snaps his head round to the source of the voice and is greeted by a wide gap-toothed smile.

“Can I have a beer?” he asks, adding “on tap,” after remembering what Bucky had told him.

“Sure thing.” The man reaches below the bar and pulls out a glass, filling it before sliding it across the bar. Steve, confused and taken by surprise, watches it slide straight past and smash on the floor.

“You’re meant to catch it,” the man laughs, but doesn’t look annoyed.

“Sorry,” Steve replies meekly. The man fills up another glass.

“You ready for this one?”

Steve nods and puts his hands out to receive the drink. The man slides the drink carefully towards Steve who catches it in cupped hands.

“Thanks.” Steve lifts the glass but stops when he runs into the problem of his scarf. “Could I have a straw?”

The man looks puzzled but fetches him a straw. Steve thanks him and takes his first sip through the straw. Bucky was right, this stuff is pretty good. He downs the whole thing in under five minutes.

“Another?” the bartender asks, already reaching for another glass.

“Please,” he nods.

Steve is just finishing his second drink and feeling pleasantly tipsy when someone loudly barges through the door and throws themselves onto a barstool.

“Sam, I need alcohol!” she calls to the barman by way of greeting.

“The usual, Darcy,” he says affectionately, placing a bottle down in front of her, “on the house.”

“You’re the best, Sam.” She waggles her finger and Sam reluctantly leans in and lets her kiss him on the cheek. “You would not believe the day I’ve had. I was driving Jane to work when I hit this guy with my Vespa –”

“What the fuck, Darce?” Sam interrupts.

“It’s not my fault, he walked right in front of me! So anyway, I get off my bike and I’m like ‘oh my god, I’m so sorry, let me take you to hospital’ but then he starts acting crazy. Like _scary_ crazy. Talking about _realms_ and shit and I’m worried he’s gonna take a swing at us.”

“What did you do?” Steve asks in an almost awed voice. Darcy flicks her eyes over to him, not looking the least bit perturbed that he was eavesdropping, and moves up to the stool next to him.

“I tasered him,” she shrugs.

“Darcy!”

“What? He was freaking me out!”

“What happened then?” Steve asks, cutting off any protests Sam may have had.

“Well we couldn’t exactly all squeeze on my Vespa so Jane called an ambulance to take him to hospital. Long story short, they’re going out for drinks later this week.” She shakes her head, seemingly baffled by her friend’s dating choices. “So what’s with the scarf, really bad nose job or…?”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, “ _bad_ nose job.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how much does one of those cost? Like ballpark figure.”

“Nothing,” Steve waves his hand dismissively.

“Free?”

“Sure.”

“Huh,” Darcy considers this. “Because I’ve been thinking about getting some work done, not my nose. You see the way my ears stick out at the top? I wanted to see if they can do something about that?”

“Pfft! You have beautiful ears. You’re beautiful!”

“You’re kinda drunk, aren’t you?” Darcy laughs.

“I guess,” he shrugs.

“So what’s your deal, Scarfy? How come I haven’t seen you round here before?”

“New to the area. I’m starting my new life,” he admits, the alcohol loosening his tongue.

“Starting your new life, I like that. I’m Darcy, by the way.” She holds out her hand.

“Steve,” he replies, taking her hand and giving it a loose shake.

“Good to meet you Steve.” She takes a swig of her drink and they fall silent for a minute. “Hey, I’ve got some errands to run, I don’t suppose you want to tag along?”

“Sure,” Steve agrees readily and goes to stand.

“Whoa, hold up there, Scarfy. Might want to wait until you’ve sobered up a bit.” She pushes him back down into the stool.

“That’s a good idea.” He slumps back over the bar.

“Sammy, darling, could you get us a couple of drinks of water?” Darcy calls across the bar to where Sam is collected some empty glasses.

“So… do you two…” Steve pitches his voice low but it still carries to Sam. “Are you guys…?”

“Oh yeah, totally. Sam’s my bae.” She throws her arm around Sam’s shoulder as he drops off their drinks.

“Please stop telling people I’m your bae,” Sam complains. “We’re not actually going out,” he tells Steve.

“Whatever you say, lovebunny.”

 

Once Darcy deems him sober enough to walk without being in danger of collapsing, she drags him out into the sunlight which seems blindingly bright compared to the dark interior of the Howling Commandos.

“Have you ever ridden in a Vespa?” she asks as they approach the vehicle.

“No.”

“You know what, we can probably walk,” Darcy decides, seeing the green tinge around Steve’s face that appeared at the sight of her bike.

“Good idea.”

Steve trails alongside Darcy as she talks at 90 miles an hour and flits systematically from shop to shop, chatting good-naturedly to shop owners and palming her bags off on Steve.

While Darcy is arguing heatedly with a stall holder, Steve picks out two postcards: one with Coney Island on the front and the other with a photo of the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Unbelievable,” Darcy huffs as she hands over her money.

“Do you have a pen I can borrow?” Steve asks.

“Sure.” She hands over a biro, still muttering under her breath has they walk away from the stall. Steve pauses to lean against a wall and scribble a quick message on his postcards before running to catch up with Darcy.

“Can we post these?” he asks, returning her pen.

“Sure, you need a stamp?” She fishes some out of her wallet.

“Thanks.”

“Who are you writing to?” she asks as he posts his cards.

“Just some friends back home, I kinda bailed on them without saying where I was going,” Steve admits, suddenly feeling guilty.

“Hey, I know all about that, sometimes you’ve just got to get away.”

“Yeah, I just hope they’re not worried.”

 

*

 

“Steve you little shit,” Natasha mutters to herself as she quickly sweeps up the postcards on the mat and hurries them into the kitchen so Pierce won’t see. Angie and Peggy look up from what they’re doing when she comes in. “Steve sent these,” she whispers, despite the fact that Pierce is in his office and can’t hear them.

They all crowd round the table to look at the postcards.

“So he’s in Brooklyn then?” Angie notes the choice of photos on the front of the postcard.

“What do they say?” Peggy asks.

Natasha picked up the card with the Brooklyn Bridge on the front and read:

“ _Hey guys,_

_Don’t worry about me, I’m safe. I’ve made some friends and they’re helping me get around and learn what’s what. Money’s a bit short but I’ll find a way to sort that out. I hope you understand that I just couldn’t stay there any longer, but I’m happier now. I’ll make sure to keep you guys updated. Please don’t look for me._

_Love you lots,_

_Steve_ ”

“Well, at least he’s safe,” Angie says.

“Yeah, until Pierce finds him,” Peggy huffs. “What does the other one say?”

“ _Went to Coney Island yesterday. You should really go Natasha, you’d love it. Maybe we could all go together once this has blown over. I did try to win a stuffed toy to send to you guys but I couldn’t get one, so you just get a postcard I’m afraid. Lots of love, Steve_ ”

“Do you think we should look for him?” Peggy asks, voicing what they’re all thinking.

“He told us not to…” Angie says.

“He seems to be doing fine,” Natasha agrees.

“Yes but this is Steve, he’s not going to say if he’s struggling,” Peggy points out. “What if _‘money’s a bit short’_ means he’s starving on the street?”

“I think we’ve got to let him figure this out by himself,” Natasha decides, her voice giving a note of finality, “but we can’t risk Pierce finding out.”

“Agreed,” Angie nods.

“Definitely not,” Peggy shakes her head vehemently. “But if we don’t hear from him in a week then I’m going after him.”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

“Rough day?” Darcy asks as Steve throws himself onto the barstool that has become his regular.

“Mm-hmm,” Steve mumbles from where his head is buried in his arms and Darcy quickly signals Sam for a drink. “I’m down to my last $20.”

The money Steve had stolen from Pierce’s drawer had been massively eaten into by paying for his hotel. Then plus eating, days out, and buying some more clothes, the money had all but disappeared fairly rapidly.

Steve looks up as Sam slides his drink in front of him. “Thanks, Sam.” Steve fishes into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled $20.

“Whoa now,” Darcy slaps his hand away. “That’s your last $20, I won’t allow you to spend it on Sam’s shitty beer.”

“Thanks, Darce,” Sam scowls, “it’s on the house anyway.”

“Thanks, Sam, you’re the best.” Steve sucks down the beer forlornly. Or at least as forlornly as you can look using a straw. “I don’t know where I’m going to go, the place I’m staying is way too expensive even if I did have money.”

“Well, you can stay with me,” Darcy suggests. “I need a roommate anyway.”

“I can’t ask you to do that Darcy,” Steve sighs, “I don’t know when I’d have the money to be able to pay rent. And you’ve only known me for a week anyway,” Steve points out.

“So? It’s better than some stranger off of the internet which is what I probably would have done otherwise,” she argues. “And first we have to get you a steady job, _then_ we can figure out rent.”

“Darcy, I really appreciate it but –”

“Steve, you listen to me.” She makes Steve swivel in his seat to look her in the eyes. “I know what you’re going to say because I’ve said the same thing to people countless times, but this is not charity and this is not a burden. This a friend helping you out who’s been where you are now. Well, maybe not _exactly_ where you are now, I can’t be sure because you won’t tell me any of the details about it. But the point is, you don’t have to do this on your own, okay?”

“Okay, thanks Darcy,” Steve smiles, if a little watery.

“It’s really no problem. We care about you, ain’t that right Sammy?” Darcy calls across the bar to where Sam’s clearing tables.

“Damn right!” he calls back.

“Now, let’s go get your stuff and get you moved in.”

 

It doesn’t take long at all to get Steve’s stuff and transport it to Darcy’s. His clothes, sketchbook, and knickknacks that he’s collected all fit comfortably inside a box.

It’s only when Steve is in his new room, arranging his recently acquired souvenirs on the windowsill while Darcy sits on his bed telling him a story at a speed that would give Eminem a run for his money, that Steve realises just how goddamn lucky he is. He sits down on the bed beside Darcy and cuts her off with a hug.

“What’s that for?” she laughs.

“Just for being so nice to me and letting me stay with you,” Steve says, trying not to sound too emotional.

“S’nothing,” she shrugs, trying to play the whole thing off and Steve allows her rather than pointing out that he can see her eyes getting damp. “Now are you going to let me finish my story or not?”

“Yeah, carry on.” Steve settles his head in her lap and curls up like a little kid being told a bedtime story.

“Right.” Darcy draws herself up. “I’ve forgotten where I got to.”

“The woman at Walmart just pushed in in front of you,” Steve prompts.

“That’s it! So this woman, you would not believe, she –” Darcy continues and Steve lets the words wash over him, still feeling a warm glow of realising just how blessed he is to have people like Darcy in his life who care about him.

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

Steve walks down the street feeling at a loose end. Darcy had to go out to work and the apartment had felt too quiet without her so Steve had decided to get out. He’d thought of popping into the Howling Commandos but opted against it, instead choosing to walk through the city, maybe find somewhere he hasn’t seen before or a nice park to relax in.

He absentmindedly checks the newsstand as he passes, but something catches his eye makes him stop dead. Steve picks up a paper and finds a gruesome sketch that wouldn’t look out of place in a horror film snarling up at him. He drops the paper in disgust. Zola is obviously behind this, trying to start some kind of witch hunt. He’s about to walk away when he notices the headline.

_$5000._

That sort of money could pay his rent and keep him going until he finds a steady job… Steve quickly jots down the phone number at the bottom of the article before hurrying away.

 

*

 

Zola scowls as the phone rings _again_ , wishing that he’d put Justin’s number down inside of his own. Mind you, he couldn’t trust Justin not to fuck this up in some shape or form so it’s probably for the best.

“Hello?” he answers the phone wearily. “Yes, this is the correct number. No, it’s not just any pig. No, it’s not a pig in boys’ clothes, it’s a boy who has a pig for a nose. No, I don’t want the photos anyway. Okay, goodbye.”

Zola huffs out a frustrated sigh as he ends the call. So far every phone call about the reward has been from idiots or pranksters. The phone rings again and he groans.

“What?” he asks rudely, his patience already worn thin.

“ _Hello, is this the man who put the ad in the paper?”_

“Yes.”

“ _This is Steve Rogers_ ,” Zola perks up instantly, “ _I’d like to sell my photo_.”

“What? Why?” he asks, the shock evident in his voice.

“ _What does it matter to you? You’ll get your story, isn’t that all you care about_?”

“Now, Steve, there’s no need to talk like that. I’m just a journalist, writing stories is my job –”

“ _Look, do you want the photos or not?_ ”

“Yes, I do.”

“ _Do you have the money?_ ”

“Yes.”

“ _Then meet me halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge in an hour, I’ll send the photo to this number once you’ve handed over the money_.” And with that Steve hangs up.

 

Zola arrives at the meeting point and looks around. Most of the people on the bridge are walking past and there are a few tourists taking photos but one skinny blond man wearing a scarf that covers half his face is just standing looking out over the East River. Zola makes his way over to the man and stands beside him.

“Steve Rogers?” he asks.

“Yes. I presume you’re Arnim Zola?” Steve replies.

“Yes.”

“Do you have my money?” Steve asks, still keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Zola retrieves a brown package out of his pocket and hands it over. Steve quickly checks the contents before getting his phone out. A few seconds later there’s a ding as Zola gets his message. He checks it and finds a selfie of Steve without his scarf or glasses, smiling self-consciously.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you.” A Cheshire cat like grin spreads over Zola’s face. Steve rolls his eyes and starts to leave but then stops. He turns back to Zola and looks like he wants to say something but isn’t sure whether he should.

“Have you seen James since…?” he eventually blurts out.

“Only once, he came to my office to return the money we’d paid him to get your photo,” Zola replies. “Why? Is your boyfriend not returning your calls?”

Steve scowls and turns his back and walks away, Zola’s laughter following him across the bridge. But it doesn’t matter, he got what he came for.

 

*

 

Darcy’s eyes nearly pop out of her head when he hands over the money for rent that evening.

“I don’t know how much rent is but this should cover at least this month, right?” Steve asks, holding out a wad of cash.

“Oh my god, Steve, what did you do?” Darcy asks, counting the money. “There’s over $1000 here, how did you get this? Are you a prostitute? I don’t know what they earn but I’m pretty sure it’s not this much unless, oh my god, _how many people did you sleep with_?!”

“Darcy, calm down!” Steve laughs as she flops onto the couch and covers her face with her hands. “I’m not a prostitute.”

“You didn’t rob a bank did you? Mug someone?” Darcy asks through her fingers.

“No.”

“Nothing illegal?”

“I promise,” Steve grins, removing Darcy’s hands from her face.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “You’re not going to tell me where you got it are you?”

“No.”

Darcy sighs. “You have too many secrets.”

“You have no idea,” Steve murmurs, readjusting his scarf.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

Peggy, Natasha, and Angie needn’t have worried about not hearing from Steve; they got a postcard from him every day, sometimes twice. The different postcards, over a dozen of them, are spread out on the kitchen table.

“Coney Island, the zoo, the aquarium, Lady Liberty,” says Peggy, scanning over the photos on the front of the postcards, “he’s even been ice skating in Central Park!”

“The kid has done more in a week than I do in a year,” Angie complains.

“How is he even affording all this?” Peggy asks.

“I might have an idea.” Natasha appears in the kitchen holding a newspaper. “You know how Zola was advertising for a photo of Steve?”

“With that drawing in the paper? How could I forget,” Peggy mutters bitterly.

“Well this is on the front page of every newspaper this morning.” She throws the paper she’s holding onto the table and the other two crowd round it.

“You think Steve sold his photo?” asks Peggy.

“It makes sense, Steve said before that he needed the money and how else would Zola get a photo of Steve _smiling_?” Natasha points out.

Peggy hums in agreement. All three look up at the sound of post hitting the mat.

“I’ll go get it,” Angie offers, “there might be another card from Steve.”

Angie slips out of the kitchen into the hall but stops, frozen to the spot. Pierce is leaning down and picking up the mail from the mat. She watches in horror as he flicks through the envelopes, stopping when he gets to a postcard with a photo of a small bakery on the front.

“Angie!” he calls and she approaches as calmly as possible. “How many times do I have to tell you not to get mail delivered here?” He flips over the card absentmindedly and after a second his mouth drops open. “What the hell is this?” Pierce asks, his voice low but dangerous.

“It’s um just a card from my friend,” Angie bumbles.

“Bullshit!” he spits. “You’ve been in touch with Steve all this time?”

“I – uh…”

“Do the others know?” Before Angie has a chance to answer Pierce pushes past her and storms into the kitchen.

Peggy looks up from where she’s making a cup of tea, while Natasha’s eyes only flick to Pierce briefly before continuing with the crossword of her folded up newspaper at the empty kitchen table.

“Mr Pierce,” Peggy smiles, “would you like a cup of tea?”

He ignores Peggy and hands Angie the postcard. “Read this,” he commands.

Angie looks to Peggy who nods minutely.

“ _Hi guys,_  
you might get a bit of a shock in the newspaper today but it’s okay. I gave Zola the photo and collected the reward money for myself so I should be okay for a while at least. You know Darcy who I told you about the other day? Well I’ve moved in with her and it’s great, she’s lots of fun. (Don’t worry though, I’m not replacing you guys!)  
Hope you’re all well,  
lots of love  
Steve”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Pierce explodes. “What’s in the newspaper?”

“This.” Natasha unfolds her newspaper and hands it over to Pierce. His face drains of all colour. “It’s also trending on Twitter,” she adds.

“The _idiot_ ,” he hisses. “How the fuck am I meant to hush this up?” Pierce drops the paper. “Where is he?”

No one answers.

“I know he must have told you. If you tell me now then I might let you keep your jobs,” Pierce bargains.

“He hasn’t told us,” Natasha finally says.

“Well where are the postcards? I know there are others.”

Again no one speaks. Peggy’s eyes flick to the cutlery draw for less than a second, but it’s enough. Pierce opens the drawer and finds the rest of cards shoved haphazardly in there. He flicks through the cards, searching for any details that hint at Steve’s whereabouts.

“He’s in Brooklyn,” says Pierce. “Natasha, find this bakery for me, maybe he goes there.” Pierce hands her the most recent card and Natasha starts looking for the address.

“Okay, I’ve found it, let’s go.” Natasha gets up.

“What are you doing?” Angie hisses but follows Natasha out of the door.

“He’s going to go looking for Steve anyway and we can’t let him find Steve alone, who knows what he’ll do to Steve when he finally catches him,” Natasha whispers back.

“She has a point,” Peggy says as they all pile into the car and set off.

 

“This is it,” Natasha says, holding the postcard up to compare it with the bakery across the street.

“Now what?” Angie asks.

“I’ll go talk to whoever’s in charge,” Peggy offers, “see if they’ve seen Steve.”

“No, I’ll do it.” Pierce starts the cross the road just as the door to the bakery opens and a familiar blond head appears.

“STEVE!” Angie yells.

Steve looks over, confused, and spots Angie, Peggy, and Natasha standing on the other side of the street. Then his eyes fall on Pierce, making his way across the road towards him. Steve bolts.

 

*

 

“Two blueberry muffins please, Bruce,” Steve says to the man behind the counter.

It had been a happy accident running into Bruce again. Darcy had insisted that she had to take Steve to ‘ _the reason why I can never stick to a diet_ ’ as she had called it. Then as it turned out Bruce owned said diet-ruining bakery. _Small world_. He claims baking helps him keep calm, but Steve can’t understand how getting up before sunrise every day to bake bread would keep anyone calm, but hey, if that’s what works for him.

“Darcy having one of her cravings again?” Bruce asks, placing the two muffins in a paper bag.

“How did you know?” Steve smiles as he hands over the money.

“I swear that girl is the only way I manage to stay open,” Bruce laughs and hands Steve the bag. “Tell her I said hi.”

“Will do.”

Steve steps out of the shop and is tempted to eat one of the muffins on the way to the Howling Commandos but he decides against it, he knows he’d only get jealous watching Darcy eat hers. Just as he starts walking he hears someone shout his name. He looks over to where it came from and sees Peggy, Angie, and Natasha standing across the street. What are they doing here? Steve had told them not to come looking for him, but he can’t deny it’s good to see them. Except they look panicked. Then Steve’s eyes fall on Pierce and he realises why.

He turns and runs, the bag abandoned on the sidewalk. Yells follow him as he bumps into people and pushes past them. Steve’s got an advantage, he’s small and he’s already got a head start. But his asthma is making it difficult to breathe and the scarf’s not helping. Just a little way further. He’s just got to get to the Howling Commandos.

Steve turns the corner and sees the front of the bar. He speeds up, feeling like he could cry with relief. He bursts through the door and rushes over to the bar where Darcy is sitting.

“There you are! Hey, where’s my muffin?” Darcy greets. “Steve, are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

Steve tries to speak but can’t. He can’t catch his breath.

“Sam, get Steve some water. Maybe you should sit down.”

His vision is starting to swim. He tries to reach out and find something to support himself but he’s already falling.

“Oh my god! Steve?” Darcy drops to her knees beside him. “Everyone move back, he can’t breathe. Sam, call an ambulance.”

Darcy starts to loosen his scarf. Steve tries to tell her to stop but he’s already slipping out of consciousness. There’s a crash as Pierce’s slams through the door followed by Angie, Peggy, and Natasha.

“NO, DON’T!” he hears Pierce’s voice yell.

Darcy yanks the scarf down and there’s a collective intake of breath.

Steve passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Tell me what you thought in the comments and come say hi on [tumblr](https://razz-a-ma-tazz.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was pretty fun to write. Get ready for awkward boys being awkward with feelings and emotions and stuff.

_But it was not your fault but mine_   
_And it was your heart on the line_   
_I really fucked it up this time_   
_Didn't I, my dear?_

Little Lion Man, Mumford and Sons

~

Steve wakes to the sound of a heart monitor beating beside him and opens his eyes only to squint against the glaring light above him. He looks over and sees Peggy curled up asleep in a chair beside the bed. The room is quiet but as he becomes more awake he starts to notice another noise in the background, like some kind of clicking? He focuses and can hear people’s muffled voices, a few of them sound like they’re yelling. Steve sits up and removes the clip off of his finger then eases his legs off of the bed, noticing that his clothes have been exchanged for a hospital gown. The blinds have been drawn in front of the glass door but he can see lights flashing behind them. He opens the blinds.

Dozens of faces stare back at him, all clamouring to look into the room. Most are holding cameras, some trying to raise them above the heads of everyone else to get a photo. People yell his name trying to get his attention. How do they know his name? Even the security guards who were trying to fight off the hoard of journalists and photographers turn and stare at him.

“Steven!”

Steve turns around as a nurse enters the room followed by Pierce, Natasha, and Angie.

“Get away from that window!” Pierce yells. He crosses the room and pulls the blinds firmly shut.

Steve knows he should feel bad or embarrassed or something – he’ll admit that this does all feel very strange – but he can’t help smiling. He tries to bite it back but there’s no stopping the huge grin that overtakes his face.

“What are you smiling at?” asks Pierce.

“They’re not running.” The words come out somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Oh, Steve.” Suddenly he’s engulfed in Peggy’s arms and he just lets himself cry.

 

If Steve had been shocked by the number of reporters inside the hospital, it’s nothing compared to the crowd waiting for him outside. He barely sets a foot out of the door before he’s being bombarded by questions.

“With such a large nose, do you smell better than the rest of us?” One reporter asks as Natasha breaks a path through the crowd for him.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Do you have any other pig parts?”

“What? No!”

“Is it true you were chained up in a basement?”

“Hey, Steve!” a familiar voice calls.

“Darcy!” he pushes through the rest of the crowd until he gets to where Darcy is waiting for him on her Vespa.

“So, a snout huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, suddenly nervous. He hasn’t thought about how Darcy or any of his new friends will react.

“Cool. The scarf actually makes a lot more sense now, like what nose job could be that bad? Anyway,” she hands him his helmet, “you coming?”

“You’re okay with this?” Steve points to his snout.

“Oh my god, Steve, don’t be an idiot, of course I am,” she rolls her eyes. “Now get on.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Pierce grabs his arm as he mounts the bike. “You’re coming back home right now.”

“Like hell I am.” Steve shrugs him off. “Pierce, they want to know if you kept me chained up in a _basement_.”

“Of course I didn’t!” He turns to the reporters. “I would do no such thing!”

“Drive.” Steve nudges Darcy and they take off down the street.

 

Within a week, Steve is all over the newspapers with a new story published about him every day. He’s met the mayor, been to the white house, appeared on more chat shows than he can count, and been showered with invitations to everything from a gala at MoMA to meeting the cast of _Hamilton_. Scarf sales have rocketed, there are T-shirts with his face on it, he’s even getting fan mail.

He’d even accidentally become an image of gay pride after an interviewer had asked if Darcy was his girlfriend. Steve had laughed for nearly a full minute. Then when the interviewer had asked him “what’s so funny?” he replied with “it’s just I’m super fucking _gay_ ”.

The next day that quote was available on T-shirts, mugs, bumper stickers, and had become a tumblr meme.

“I don’t get it,” Steve says to Darcy as they are walking through Prospect Park, having just been stopped for the about the tenth time that day for a selfie or an autograph or, on one occasion, to show Steve the tattoo they have of him. “Why are people so interested? It’s just a nose, like I haven’t done anything impressive.”

“Beats me,” Darcy shrugs, “but you should totally play it up, see if you can get us some Beyoncé tickets out of it or something.”

“Or I could use my powers for good and try to gain awareness around important issues that I care about?” Steve suggests.

“Yeah, yeah, that too,” she waves him off. “Come on, let’s go see if we can score free lunch somewhere.”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

Justin Hammer exits the restaurant feeling pretty damn good. He’s just had lunch with his Uncle, Senator Stern, who has promised to pull some strings and see if he can get Justin a government position. So when he’s confronted with a handful of reporters he takes it in his stride, giving them his best winning smile and a jaunty wave.

“Excuse me, Justin Hammer!” A reporter shouts as Justin makes his way over to the car. “What are your thoughts on Steve Rogers? Is it true you tried to file a police report against him?”

“No comment please ladies and gentlemen,” Senator Stern smiles and tries to usher Justin towards the car.

“No, it’s fine.” Justin turns to the reporter that asked the question who holds out his Dictaphone for Justin’s answer. “That man, that _thing_ , belongs in a cage.”

It’s silent for a second as the reporters exchange confused looks before they all start talking at once, bombarding him with more questions.

“That’s enough.” Senator Sterns practically drags Justin to the car.

“No, but uncle, I’ve got more to say,” Justin tries to argue.

“I said that’s enough,” he hisses, almost throwing Justin into the back seat before getting in the other side. “Have you lost your mind? What the hell was that?” Stern asks as soon as the car starts moving.

“They asked what I thought about Steve Rogers,” replies Justin. “The people need to know the truth. You’ve seen him, he’s a monster.”

“The public love him,” Stern counters.

“Yes, but –”

“And we love what the public loves, get it?”

“So what are you saying?” Justin pouts, folding his arms across his chest like a stroppy child.

“I’m saying you’ve got to fix this.”

“Well, I don’t know what you’re expecting me to do –”

“Just fix it, goddammit!”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

Since Steve’s unexpected rise to stardom, the Howling Commandos has become exponentially more popular and is packed like a mosh pit every time Steve sets foot in there. Sam is pleased to say that business has never been better, he’s even had to start employing more staff.

Tonight seems even busier than usual and Darcy makes a beeline for the pool table. “Jane and her boyfriend are coming and I want to save the table for them,” she explains as they elbow people out of the way.

“Is this the same boyfriend that you ran over?” Steve asks.

“That would be the one.” They break through the crowd and get to the table where two guys were just finishing up a game. “Aww, that was the day we met,” she realises, smiling sweetly before turning and bellowing “STEVE ROGERS HAS DIBS ON THE NEXT GAME!”

“Darcy!” he elbows her in the side.

“What? I didn’t want anyone to steal our table.” One of the men sinks the last shot just as Darcy spots Jane.

“Hey, Steve.” Jane gives him a hug. Steve’s been seeing more of her since he moved in with Darcy but he it’s only now that he realises he hasn’t seen her since his big reveal. She doesn’t seem to be acting any differently though, she still gives him the same warm smile.

“Thor meet Steve,” Darcy introduces, “and Steve meet –”

“ _Thor Odinson_.”

“Do you two know each other?” Jane asks.

“No I-I really,” Steve stutters, “I’m a huge fan of your work,” he finally manages to get out. “I loved the Asgard Chronicles, it’s my favourite book series,” he gushes.

“Ah always nice to meet a fan,” Thor beams. “I’m actually a big fan of yours, Steven.”

“Really?”

“Yes, especially your support for gay rights.”

“Oh I didn’t, I mean I _do_ obviously, but I –”

“So modest.” Thor claps him on the shoulder. “You shall be on my team.”

“Well I guess that sorts out teams,” Darcy grins.

Fifteen minutes later Thor and Steve are losing. _Badly_. Thor keeps on accidentally putting the wrong balls while Steve is lucking if the ball stays on the table, let alone hits anything. But it’s fun all the same and they’ve gathered quite a crowd.

Steve is just battling his way through to the bar with drinks for him and Thor when he bumps into Bruce.

“Shit, sorry,” Steve apologises as some of the beer slops onto the floor.

“Hey, no problem,” Bruce smiles. “We’re just playing darts,” he gestures over his shoulder where Scott is covering Clint’s eyes as he aims, “you should join us.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ve never played before though.”

“That’s okay, you can’t be any worse than Scott.”

“COME ON STEVE, IT’S YOUR TURN!” Darcy calls.

“I’ll make my way over to you guys after I finish this game,” Steve promises before returning to the pool table.

He puts the beers down and takes the cue from Thor, carefully lining up his shot as the crowd behind him chant is name. The cue scrapes across the cloth and the ball goes flying off the end of the table again, but the people around him cheer like he just won the game.

“I’ll go get it,” he laughs.

Steve’s looking under tables for the ball when he hears a familiar voice behind him.

“Looking for this?”

Steve straightens up and takes the ball from James.

“Thanks.”

There’s an awkward pause.

“You really did it, huh? You got outta there.” James rubs the back of his neck. “I-I um, well you, you look great. _Happier._ You seem a lot happier.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, “I am.”

 “I see you found the Howling Commandos,” James says, immediately wanting to kick himself. Of course he found it, he’s here isn’t he?

“Yeah, I can see why you like it,” Steve looks around. “I haven’t seen you in here before though.”

“Yeah, I haven’t been in a while. You been looking for me?” James grins and watches Steve’s cheeks flush. God, he’s missed teasing this kid.

“Steve!” he turns and sees Peggy making her way through the crowd.

“Sorry, James, I have to go.”

“Wait.” James grabs hold of his wrist. “I just wanted to, I needed to say that you uh… Well you inspired me really. What you did, going off on your own like that, it took a lot of guts and –”

“Steve, we really have to go.” Peggy has finally managed to get through the crowds and is pulling him away.

“Sorry,” Steve manages to say before Peggy drags him out of earshot. “What the hell, Peggy?”

Cameras flash as Steve emerges from the bar and Peggy briskly marches him over to the car.

“I’ll explain later but you need to come home right now,” Peggy says as she opens the door for him.

Steve looks uncertain but gets in the car anyway.

 

*

 

“What the hell is he doing here?” Steve asks. “What is this?”

Justin Hammer is sitting awkwardly in the parlour with Pierce, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world right now.

“Justin has something he wants to say to you,” Pierce smiles.

Justin gets to his feet and walks towards Steve but doesn’t seem to want to get closer than a metre and avoids looking at his face.

“I-I,” he clears his throat, “I’m sorry I ran from my feelings.”

“Oh your feelings? Is that what you were running from?” Steve laughs. “I’m sorry, I thought it was _my face_.”

“No, I,” Justin forces himself to look at Steve, “I was just running because my feelings for you were so overwhelming and I –”

“Okay, this must be a joke, I’ve had enough,” Steve turns to leave.

“Steve, don’t make the poor boy beg,” Pierce smiles, smoothly moving in front of the exit. “He could still break the curse.”

“But things are different now, I have friends, people who care –”

“They’re not your friends, they’re your _fans_ ,” Pierce laughs. “All those people out there, do you think they’d care about you if you didn’t have that?” he points at Steve’s snout and Steve can’t help but flinch. “You’re just a freak to them, just a talking pig the world will get bored of soon enough. But Justin,” Pierce grabs Steve by the shoulders and turns him to look at the man across from him, “Justin wants to _marry_ you.”

As if on cue, Justin pulls out a ring from his pocket and gets down on one knee.

“This is your only chance at a normal life,” Pierce says, nudging Steve towards where Justin is knelt.

“Steve,” Justin smiles though he looks nauseous, “will you marry me?”

Steve’s pretty sure his heart stops momentarily. Maybe Pierce is right, maybe he’s just some freak after all.  And this is what he’s been waiting for, isn’t it? What they’ve been working towards for the last three years? A shot at a normal life, to walk down the street without people staring. This could be his only chance at it, since no one else seems willing to marry him. Even James, who he thought was different, rejected him. Steve looks back at Pierce who nods encouragingly. He takes a deep breath and steps forward, silently holding out his left hand.

“Congratulations!” Pierce says as Justin slips the ring on with clammy fingers.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

Zola stares at the paper on his desk. He’s still in a state of shock. _Steve Rogers engaged to Justin Hammer_. Of all the ways he had thought this would turn out, this had not been one of them. Even _Zola_ is disgusted. It’s clearly a ploy by Hammer to try and weasel his way into the limelight as well as saving face after the fallout over his comments about Steve. It’s a slimy two-faced move but all anyone can talk about is the upcoming wedding; the media is having a field day. Zola expects he’ll probably have to report on it too, maybe he’ll gate-crash the wedding…

There’s a brief knock on his door and Brock Rumlow sticks his head in.

“Have you seen this?” asks Zola incredulously, holding up the newspaper for Brock to see.

“Yeah, mazel tov,” Brock dismisses. “I was wondering if you could help me on this piece I’m doing on James Falsworth? Seeing as you know the guy.”

“Oh really?” Zola leans back in his chair. “What’s the article about?”

“It’s a riches to rags to armed robbery story,” says Brock.

“Armed robbery?” Zola laughs. “James is a lot of things, a gambler for sure, but armed robbery?”

“He already confessed,” Brock shrugs. “The police are holding him right now.”

“What the hell?” he sits bolt upright in his chair. “This I’ve got to see.” Zola grabs his coat, hastily stuffing a notepad and pen in his pocket, and pushes past Brock.

“Hey!” Brock calls after him. “Don’t even think about stealing my story!”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

Arnim Zola can’t help but feel out of place as he sits beside crying relatives and fighting couples shouting down the phone while he waits for James to appear on the other side of the glass. A man is escorted over to the seat opposite him and sits down.

This man isn’t James Falsworth. He looks nothing like James.

Zola sits there in confusion until Not James taps on the glass and picks up the phone, gesturing for him to do the same. He picks up the phone warily.

“Are you the lawyer my mother sent?” a posh sounding English voice asks.

“I’m sorry,” Zola tries to signal a guard, “there must be some kind of mistake. I’m here to talk to James Falsworth.”

“You’re looking at him.” The man waves his hand like a magician performing a trick, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his moustached mouth.

“No, you’re not James.” Zola looks around for someone to sort this out, they’ve arrested the wrong man.

“Yes, I am,” the man – James? – replies.

“No, I’m looking for _James Falsworth_.”

“I am not deaf, I can hear you,” the man rolls his eyes, clearly getting tired of this argument. “I am James Falsworth. Well, James Falsworth the third to be precise.”

“But you’re…”

Zola thinks back to the night he met James.

“ _You’ve got the wrong guy_.” That’s what James(?) had said. Thinking about it, it was only _after_ Zola had mentioned the money that James had responded to him.

“Shit…” Zola curses. “Okay, what about that guy you play poker with?”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that,” Falsworth laughs.

“Shaggy brown hair, Brooklyn accent, metal arm –”

“Ah! That’s Bucky Barnes, never knows when to quit.”

Zola whips out his notepad and jots the name down.

“You’re not my lawyer are you?” Falsworth sighs.

“Nope.” Zola closes his notepad and hangs up the phone.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

Steve and Justin’s first public appearance as an engaged couple is a few days later at a ball of all things. Steve didn’t know that was still a thing, but apparently rich people will take any excuse to show off and don ridiculously expensive outfits and countless jewels. Although most people would assume the purpose of a ball is to, well, dance, in this case it seems to act more as a vessel for introducing Steve and Justin to the elite of New York and to demonstrate their promising engagement. Steve is certain he’s met more people in the last hour or so than he has in his whole life, although after about half an hour they all start blending into one dull mass.

After he feels they’ve done enough socialising, Pierce nudges them in the direction of the dancefloor where there is a reasonable amount of other couples twirling to the string quartet. Steve balks, protesting that he doesn’t know how to dance, but Pierce pushes them on regardless.

“Dancing is not the point,” Pierce hisses as he practically frogmarches them onto the floor. “The point is keeping up appearances and looking happy with your fiancé.”

Pierce finds a position where Steve and Justin can be seen clearly by some of the photographers and select members of the press who have been invited to the function, then waits expectantly. Steve rolls his eyes but turns to Justin nevertheless and takes his left hand, placing the other on his hip.

“I think I should probably lead,” Justin slips his hand from Steve’s grasp, “since I’m the one who knows what we’re doing.”

“Fine,” Steve says through gritted teeth as Justin places his hand stiffly on Steve’s upper back. “Now what?”

“Put your hand on my shoulder and follow my lead,” Justin mutters through a fake smile – a photographer must be looking their way.

Justin leads them in a mechanical box step, counting under his breath as he leads them slowly, and sometimes out of time, through the crowd, occasionally bumping into other couples. Steve manages to step on Justin’s toes at least a dozen times, sometimes by accident, but mostly not.

“Stop slouching,” Justin instructs. “And _smile_.”

Steve rolls his eyes but Justin doesn’t notice, too busy focusing on a spot above Steve’s head and trying to keep time. Steve fixes his eyes over Justin’s shoulder and for a second he sees a flash of metal and his heart jumps, _maybe it’s James_. He quickly pushes the idea out of his mind, it’s probably just the light reflecting off someone’s watch. But he can’t help but hope. He didn’t realise how much he misses James until he ran into him at the Howling Commandos. Sure, it had been awkward as hell, but James had still been able to make him blush and just for a second it felt like before; back when he still thought that James could be the one to break the curse, when he thought that they may have a future together. But now that decision has been made for him. He’s going to marry Justin and he’ll never know what it would have been like to be loved by James. _But the curse will be broken_ , Steve reminds himself. Although, right now it feels more like he’s just trading in one curse for another.

When the song finally ends Justin volunteers to get them some drinks and Steve gladly accepts, grateful to be shot of him even for a few minutes. However, this relief only lasts a few seconds until someone taps on his shoulder and asks him to dance. Steve is about to graciously refuse only to turn around and be confronted by…

“James?” He’s swept his hair up in a bun and, despite his suit looking significantly tattier and cheaper than the others in the room, he’s still, in Steve’s opinion, the best looking guy in the whole place. “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited. Having an arm designed by Tony Stark does have its perks, one of which is receiving his castoff invites to fancy shit like this,” he says.

“I’m um, I’m here with –”

“Prince Charming, yeah, I saw,” James mutters, looking over Steve’s shoulder to where Justin is standing at the bar. “Guess you didn’t need me to teach you how to dance after all.”

“Oh god, you didn’t see that did you?” Steve huffs out a laugh, covering his face with his hands as James chuckles.

“Oh yeah. Justin certainly has an _interesting_ technique,” James laughs. “May I?” he offers his hand to Steve.

Steve looks nervously over his shoulder at Justin who is trying to get the attention of the bartender.

“It’s okay,” James reassures him, “you’re not a married man. _Yet_.”

Steve turns back to James and takes his hand, allowing James’ arm to circle his waist. He leads them in a sedate rhythm, one that feels more natural than Justin’s clompy steps, and Steve has to fight the urge to rest his head on James’ chest.

“When is the wedding anyway?” asks James.

“Two weeks this Sunday,” replies Steve bitterly.

“Looking forward to it?”

Steve shoots him a scathing look before dropping his head and watching their feet.

“Stop looking at your feet.”

“I don’t want to step on your toes,” Steve explains.

“I’m sure I can take it.”

“Oh really?” Steve says, punctuated by deliberately stepping on James’ toe, _hard_.

 “Barely even felt it,” James winces.

“Liar,” Steve scoffs but looks up at James anyway. James gazes back at him and Steve tries not to blush, feeling exposed under the intimate stare, but he also doesn’t want to look away. He realises they’ve never been this close before; he’s never had the chance to properly admire James’ features – his steely eyes, the dimple in his chin, his snaggle tooth when he smiles.

“Steve.” James pulls him back down to earth. “I want to tell you something.”

“Okay?” Steve’s heart beats nervously at James’ tone.

“I probably should have told you this a long time ago, but I’m a coward and I honestly don’t know how you’re going to feel about me after I’ve told you,” James huffs. “I –”

“James.” Justin’s voice cuts in, announcing his presence and interrupting whatever James was about to say.

“You two know each other?” Steve asks, releasing James’ hand as he looks between the two men.

“Oh yeah, James and I go back a way,” Justin answers, keeping his eyes trained on James. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind catching up. You don’t mind do you, Steve?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Steve mumbles, stepping further away from James. “I’ll just –”

“Excellent,” Justin doesn’t wait for the end of Steve’s sentence, already steering James through the crowd and towards the bathroom.

“You make me sick!” James explodes as soon as they’re within the confines of the bathroom.

“Why?” Justin leans casually against a sink. “I’m giving him _exactly_ what he wants,” James scoffs at that, “and I don’t exactly see anyone else lining up to do that. Unless,” he pushes off of the sink and walks leisurely towards James. “Unless you are.” He smirks, invading James’ personal space.

James drops his gaze and bites his tongue.

“Are you lining up?”

“That’s, that’s not –”

“You are, aren’t you?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yes, it is the point!” Justin yells, momentarily losing his cool. “Look,” he says once he’s regained his composure, “if you want to go out there and tell him that the only man willing to stand up and say ‘I do’ still _gags_ at the thought of kissing him, be my guest.” He gestures at the door. “But it’s not me you’ll be hurting, it’s him.”

Justin grins and slaps James on the shoulder before sauntering out of the bathroom. As much as James hates to admit it, Justin is right. James can’t go and tell Steve that Justin had been the one who employed him, who funded the whole operation. Things are already bad enough for that kid as it is and he refuses to make it worse in a selfish attempt to clear his conscience.

James quickly splashes some water on his face and tries to compose himself before exiting the bathroom. He re-enters the ballroom just in time to see Justin hastily sweeping a confused looking Steve away, and James sighs knowing there’s nothing he can do about it.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

James is in the middle of setting up the tables for tonight’s show when he hears someone enter the hall, probably Nick.

“Bucky Barnes,” a familiar voice calls and he looks up. Arnim Zola is casually walking across the hall, reading from a file. “Son of George and Winifred Barnes, both deceased. Joined the army straight out of high school with,” Zola checks the file, “Timothy Dugan, now deceased. Served for ten years,” Zola lets out a low whistle, “until you got your arm blown off. Then you were medically discharged and enrolled in Tony Stark’s programme for wounded vets where you became a guinea pig for his new state of the art prosthetic.” Zola closes the file and puts it on a table Bucky’s just finished cleaning. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, that’s pretty much it,” Bucky shrugs. “Sure took you long enough though.”

“Yeah well you had me fooled.” Bucky pulls out a chair and swivels it before sitting down, folding his arms across the back of the chair and resting his chin on top. Zola sits down across the table from him. “Did you hear the news?”

“Yeah,” Bucky looks over to the discarded newspaper that he had been reading earlier. “Cute couple.”

“Steve and the beast,” Zola scoffs, pulling a snort of laughter from Bucky.

“But they’re both getting what they want,” Bucky says, reminding himself more than anything else.

“Are they?” asks Zola as he fiddles with the edge of the file. “I mean I know Justin’s getting ties with Alexander Pierce and a fraction of the limelight, but what’s in it for Steve?”

“Well, he gets the day he’s waited for all his life,” Bucky sighs. “He gets to break the curse.”

“Oh come on,” Zola laughs. “Don’t tell me you believe in that!”

“You don’t?”

“No!” Zola laughs.

“What have you been chasing all these years then?”

“I don’t know,” Zola huffs. “A good story? The chance to prove I’m not crazy to everyone who laughed at me?” Neither of them say anything for a moment. “You know, it’s still not too late to stop Justin.”

“It’s what Steve wants.” Bucky tries to believe it.

“You know as much as I do that’s not true.”

“Why do you care anyway? You did try and destroy the kid’s life after all,” Bucky points out.

“I think that’s a little harsh,” Zola says, sounding slightly miffed. “I was just after the story, I didn’t have a personal vendetta. Besides, I’m not completely heartless.”

Bucky scoffs.

“If all it takes is getting married to break the ‘ _curse_ ’,” Zola says using air quotes, “then why don’t you do it?”

“I’m not James,” he explains.

“So?”

“Only ‘ _one of their own kind_ ’ can break the curse. I’m not a blueblood, just plain old Bucky Barnes,” he mutters.

“Oh yeah, there is that,” Zola agrees. “What are you going to do then?”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Bucky says, his voice resigned, as he gets up and pushes the chair in, signalling the end of the conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life so let me know what you thought and, if you feel in the mood to procrastinate, why not follow me on [tumblr](http://razz-a-ma-tazz.tumblr.com/)?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh the dreaded wedding day is finally upon Steve and we're getting close to the end now!

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_   
_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_   
_All your life_   
_You were only waiting for this moment to arise._

Blackbird, The Beatles

~

The sun beams down, unusually bright for a day in early November, and floods the bridal suite with light, warming Steve’s skin through the glass. He can hear Peggy giving out instructions downstairs along with Pierce’s smug voice on the telephone to someone or other. Below his window he can see people setting up chairs in front of the boathouse while Angie goes through a checklist. Natasha steps outside and says something to Angie who ticks another item of the list. Steve sighs. Outside the weather is almost mockingly cheerful, clear blue sky as far as the eye can see. The perfect day for a wedding.

Steve turns away from the window and looks at his suit on the chair that he really should have put on by now. Peggy and Angie had helped him choose it out – they went with blue to bring out his eyes – and he has to admit, it _is_ pretty nice. He had hung it up on the outside of his wardrobe when he got home, where it had sat for a week looking out of place. A constant reminder of what’s to come. But now that day has come, so this morning he had picked up his suit at the crack of dawn and been hassled into a car, but before he left he took a moment to look at the house that he had called home his whole life. He had expected to feel some kind of nostalgia and a reluctance to leave, and in a way he did, but most of all the looming structure felt unfamiliar. In just a few short months his room, this house, which he called home for as long as he can remember, has become foreign to him. He doesn’t feel like he belongs there anymore and, as the car heads off to Prospect Park, he realises maybe he never did.

That’s one good thing about the wedding; after weeks of bickering and compromising Pierce had eventually given in and allowed Steve to have the wedding in Brooklyn and Peggy had found a venue that even Pierce couldn’t find fault in. Steve has to admit, as he takes in the view of the lake from his room, it really is beautiful.

He looks down at his watch. In an hour he’ll be walking down the aisle. Somehow they’ll make it through the vows then he’ll have to sit through what promises to be the most awkward and uncomfortable reception in the history of weddings. After that they’ll be sent off on their honeymoon of a week in the Hamptons – only a week, mind you; Justin has to get back to start his new job that his uncle has wrangled for him – and then they’ll come back to Manhattan where they’ll start their new life together. Their condo is all set up and ready for them to move in. It’s nice, spacious. It was actually Steve’s favourite of the ones Peggy showed him and he would be looking forward to moving in, if it weren’t for the man he’s moving in with.

There’s a gentle knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Peggy steps into the room and closes the door behind her. She’s matched her trademark red lipstick with a vintage style dress that she pulls off so effortlessly that she could have come straight out of a 1940s movie.

“Wow, Peg,” he shoots her what even he knows is a feeble grin, “you look amazing. Angie’s definitely lucky to have you.”

“Thank you.” She allows herself a small, pleased grin as she smooths out the non-existent creases in her skirt. “You’re not dressed yet,” she observes but she doesn’t sound angry or particularly surprised.

“Yeah, I –” he cuts himself off. He’s been avoiding even thinking of putting that suit on because as soon as he does it all becomes too real. Once that suit is on, there’ll be no denying or hiding from the fact that in a few hours he’ll be married to a man he can’t stand. _But the curse will be broken_ , he reminds himself again. It’s become almost like a mantra, the one thing that is keeping him going. But at this point he has to wonder, is it even worth it?

He sighs and goes over to the suit.

“Turn around,” he instructs Peggy.

“You do know I’m gay, right?” she points out.

“Yeah, so am I, now turn around.” She rolls her eyes but does as she’s told.

Taking a deep breath Steve pulls his top off over his head. He gets dressed in silence. The air between them thick and heavy and he can tell Peggy wants to say something. She probably wants to tell him everything’s going to be fine. Or maybe she wants to tell him he doesn’t have to go through with this. Steve hopes she doesn’t say anything, she’d be lying either way.

“Okay, I’m done.”

Peggy turns around and joins Steve where he’s staring into the mirror, his reflection gazing forlornly back at him.

“I feel stupid,” he mutters, pulling at his cuffs.

“You don’t look stupid,” Peggy reassures him. “Well, except your tie,” she smirks. Peggy moves in front of him, blocking his reflection, and undoes his tie then reties it perfectly. “There,” she says, smoothing down his lapels.

Steve meets her eyes. It’s silent again, but this silence is more delicate. Steve doesn’t want to be the one to break it. This feels like it could possibly be the last peaceful moment in his life for a while, the calm before the storm, and he just wants to surround himself in it.

_Please_ , he wants to say, but begs silently with his eyes instead. _Please tell me I don’t have to do this. Please say there’s another way_.

“Steve…”

Pierce bursts through Steve’s door, interrupting whatever Peggy was about to say. Steve straightens up, receding from the shattered moment and trying to reign in any stray tears that threatened to cloud his vision. He looks over at Pierce who is beaming widely, looking happier than Steve’s ever seen him.

“Big day today.” He crosses the room and claps Steve heartily on the back. Steve lurches forward and for a second he thinks he’s going to throw up. Pierce scans his eyes over Steve’s outfit. “You look…” his voice trails off as he reaches Steve’s face and he substitutes whatever he was going to say with a nod. “Can we have a moment?” he asks Peggy.

Steve’s eyes widen minutely and he looks at Peggy, praying that she’ll come up with some reason to stay or, even better, get rid of Pierce entirely.

Peggy hesitates for a second, her eyes flitting over to Steve. “Of course,” she says and slips out of the room, albeit reluctantly.

Pierce clears his throat. “I can’t believe this day has finally come. I’m so glad you came around.” Pierce fixes Steve with a levelling stare and grips his shoulder almost painfully. “I just wanted to remind you that you’re doing the right thing.”

To Steve’s relief, there’s a knock at the door which saves him from having to respond. Natasha pokes her head into the room and Steve silently thanks her for her impeccable timing.

Pierce, however, seems less pleased with the interruption. “What is it?” he demands. “I’m trying to have a private word with my nephew before he gets married.

“I’m sorry,” she doesn’t sound particularly sincere, “but there’s someone downstairs who needs to talk to you. It’s urgent.”

Pierce sighs in frustration. “I’ll see you later.” He gives Steve’s shoulder one last squeeze before following Natasha out of the door.

Steve lets out a long breath of relief as he’s left in his room alone. He tries to find something to distract himself but to no avail. He should have brought a book with him, the waiting is unbearable. Although, even if he did, he doubts he’d be focused enough to actually follow the plot. There’s a small TV in the corner of the room and he turns it on but the canned laughter sounds even faker than normal. He switches it back off almost instantaneously. Finding nothing to hold his attention, and having nothing to do but wait, he sits on the edge of the chair in silence and tries not to crease his suit until someone comes to tell him it’s time.

 

*

 

Zola stands in the impressive dining room which is being prepared for the reception. An ice sculpture of all things sits on one of the tables and beside it an intricately decorated five tier white cake, topped with two small grooms holding hands and looking adoringly into each other’s eyes. Zola lets out a snort of laughter. It would be far more accurate to have one of those novelty ball and chain toppers.

The sound of a door opening catches his attention and he turns to see Pierce making his way towards him, followed closely by Natasha. Zola leans against one of the tables and waits for Pierce to get to him, making no effort to cross the room or meet him halfway. Pierce stops in front of Zola who’s just about to congratulate him on the upcoming marriage when he’s cut off.

“What do you want?” Pierce asks bluntly.

“I don’t want anything,” Zola grins, opening his arms innocently.

“Oh please,” Pierce scoffs. “You’ve been harassing me and my family for years, of course you want something. Now what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to give you something, a wedding present if you will.”

“You don’t need me for that, just give it to Natasha,” Pierce grunts in frustration.

“It’s important information on a rather _sensitive_ matter.”

“Forget it,” says Pierce. “If you’re here to blackmail me then at least you could have the decency to wait until after the wedding, I have things to do.”

Zola throws the file that he’s carrying down on the table before Pierce gets a chance to leave. “Meet Bucky Barnes.”

“Who the hell is Bucky Barnes?” Pierce asks as he picks up the file.

“You probably know him better as James Falsworth.”

Pierce skims the file then hands it to Natasha and takes a seat.

“Okay,” Pierce says, “you have five minutes.”

 

*

 

“What do we do?” Natasha hisses urgently as Pierce strides across the hall. Zola had told them everything: Bucky, the photograph, Justin’s part in all this, _the lot_.

 “Nothing,” he says, a resolved look on his face. “This doesn’t change anything, we carry on with the wedding as normal.”

“How can you say that? This changes everything!” she protests. “Not only was Justin in on it from the start –”

“He’s still one of our own kind, he can break the curse,” Pierce interrupts.

“Well what about James or Bucky or whatever his name is?”

“What about him?”

“Don’t you think Steve has the right to know?” Natasha plants herself in front of Pierce, forcing him to stop walking. “What if the only reason James – _Bucky_ – didn’t marry Steve was because he knew he couldn’t break the curse?”

“Well we don’t know if that’s the case, but if it’s true then _god bless him_ , he did the right thing!” Pierce exclaims. “We can’t tell Steve about this,” he catches Natasha’s arm.

“I can’t just let you –”

“He needs to go through with this wedding and who knows what he’ll do when he finds out.”

Natasha withdraws her arm. “We can’t keep it from him forever.”

“Not forever, just until he’s settled into his marriage, a few years at the most.” Pierce sidesteps around Natasha and continues walking. “Oh and make sure Angie doesn’t have a Bucky Barnes or James Falsworth on that guest list,” he calls over his shoulder.

 

*

 

“Hey, Bruce!” Darcy calls. Bruce looks around and sees Darcy waving frantically at him.

“Hey.” She stands up and gives him a hug. “Good to see you, Darce.”

“You too. Why don’t you guys come and sit with us?” She asks, leading him, Scott, Clint, and Rhodey over to her row. “All of us regular folk together,” she says in a loud southern accent causing a woman in a large feathery hat in front of them to huff and change rows.

Darcy introduces them to Jane and Thor before asking, “Where’s Tony anyway?”

As if on cue, Tony appears in an expensive suit with a top hat under his arm. “Sorry I’m late, didn’t trust that kid to park my car for me.” He slides into the seat next to Rhodey.

“Don’t you want to go and sit with the other billionaires?” Rhodey asks, nodding to the row across from them where the woman from earlier is talking to a group of other women in equally ridiculous hats who are all giving them evil looks.

“Nah, I prefer it here in the cheap seats.”

Darcy nudges Bruce in the side to get his attention as Tony and Rhodey bicker. “I’m really nervous for Steve,” she confesses. “I mean it’s not that I’m not happy for him, I am,” she sighs. “What do you think?”

“If he’s happy, I’m happy,” Bruce shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess. I just don’t like that Justin guy.” She nods towards Justin who is standing at the end of the aisle looking like he’s about to throw up.

“Me neither,” Bruce concurs. “Did you see what he said about Steve in the paper?”

“Mm,” she furrows her brow in concern. “But if Steve is marrying him he must know what he’s doing, right?”

“I suppose,” Bruce replies, though he sounds unconvinced.

Music starts to play and Darcy grabs Bruce and Sam’s hands either side of her as the guests quieten down and everyone waits for Steve to emerge.

 

*

 

Steve can hear the buzzing of voices outside the doors to the boathouse. He thinks he hears Darcy shout something over the general hum which makes him smile. He feels better knowing his friends will be there, even if there is one person who’s missing. Steve takes a deep breath to try and calm his nerves which feel less like butterflies and more like a swarm of angry bees in his stomach.

“Nervous?” Pierce asks from beside him.

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. His voice doesn’t want to co-operate. What if he can’t even say his vows?

“I was just the same when I married your aunt, bloody terrified to be honest,” Pierce chuckles and Steve looks over at him with wide eyes.

He could count the number of times Pierce has talked about his aunt since her death on one hand. Even when he had, it had only ever been a passing reference, never particularly fond like this.

“We hadn’t known each other for much longer than you and Justin. The situation was slightly different I’ll admit, but I was still scared out of my wits. I needn’t have worried though, she made me very happy.” A small but sad smile tugs at Pierce’s lips. “You’re going to be fine.” He squeezes Steve’s shoulder reassuringly and music starts playing from the other side of the doors. “That’s our cue.” He presents his arm for Steve who takes it, still dumbfounded at Pierce’s confession and gesture of familial affection.

Someone opens the doors for them and before he knows it Steve is walking down the aisle. It’s a good job that he’s holding onto Pierce, Steve doesn’t trust his legs to support him otherwise. A sea of faces turn round to stare at him. He scans them quickly for his friends. His eyes land on Bruce who gives him a reassuring smile and next to him Darcy looks almost as nervous as Steve feels. He spots Angie near the front, looking like she’s about to burst into tears, and Peggy next to her whose smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Natasha sits on the end of the row, her lips pressed tightly together in a line. But no James. Steve’s not sure what he expected, James interrupting the ceremony and whisking him away? Yeah, that only happens in movies.

They reach the end of the aisle and Pierce goes and sits down while Steve looks at the man who he’s about to marry. God, Justin looks even worse than Steve feels. He looks like he might throw up at any second, or keel over, or both.

The priest starts his spiel. Some bullshit about how beautiful love is and how Steve is lucky to have found the man who he wants to spend his life with at such a young age and that their love will only grow. Apparently no one’s actually informed him that love has nothing to do with this arrangement. While the priest is speaker Justin looks straight forwards, not even glancing in Steve’s direction until it’s time for the vows.

Steve watches the whole thing as if he’s underwater. He hears the priest saying something and Justin manages to stammer out an ‘ _I do_ ’. Everything seems to be in slow motion. The priest turns to Steve.

“And do you, Steven Grant Rogers, take Justin Hammer to be your wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish till death do you part?”

 

*

 

Bucky sits on a bench at the park reading The Hobbit. It’s the copy Steve gave him – well, the one he stole – on that very first day. He was going to sell it, put it on eBay or something, but instead when he got home he started reading it. Bucky read the whole thing in a day. It felt wrong after that to sell it. So he’s kept it. It’s a reminder, more than anything, of when he had something good in his life. Before he fucked everything up. Again.

He closes the book with a sigh and looks out over the park. Everything seems to remind him of Steve; the book, a flash of blond hair, someone laughing, the art student sketching on the next bench over.

Steve is getting married today. He saw it on a newspaper that someone left on the bench. It’s happening at Prospect Park, that’s not too far away. He could go, he could stop it. Bucky laughs a little at the idea. Yeah, right. Like Steve’s going to want him turning up looking like he just rolled out of bed (he has) with his metal arm and his gambling addiction? Some knight in shining armour. No, Steve is better with Justin. It’s his choice to make and he’s made it.

Bucky picks up the newspaper beside him and chucks it in the trash, not wanting to be tempted to read it. He considers going home, but home is too close to where he goes to gamble, and he doesn’t trust himself not to relapse in his current state of mind. So he sits on the park bench and reads The Hobbit while trying to repress the thought of Steve and Justin kissing after being pronounced married.

 

*

 

Steve looks out at the crowd, some of whom are beginning to whisper. He catches Darcy’s eye and she shakes her head minutely. Beside her Bruce looks supportive but concerned by Steve’s silence. Natasha is still wearing the same expression as earlier while Angie looks like she’s literally on the edge of her seat.

“Steve?” the priest nudges.

His eyes sweep down to wear Pierce is sitting. Pierce smiles and nods, mouthing ‘ _I do’_. Steve looks back up at Justin who stares back at him, pale and nervous.

Steve shakes his head. “No.”

There are gasps from the guests as well as what sounds like a laugh or a cheer from Darcy.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Justin who looks like a kid on Christmas morning and only just manages to restrain himself from fist pumping.

Steve takes off down the aisle, back towards the boathouse.

“Nobody move!” Pierce instructs as he gets up to chase Steve. “He’s fine, he’s just overwhelmed.”

Steve doesn’t hear him say this, he’s already at the entrance to the building and he quickly mounts the stairs to the bridal suite. He hears Pierce calling after him as he comes skidding into the house which just makes him climb the stairs faster. Steve reaches the top of the stairs and darts into the room, locking the door behind him.

“STEVE!” Pierce yells from the other side of the door.

“Go away!” he calls back.

“Just think about what you’re doing, this is the moment we’ve worked so hard for!”

“I said go away!”

“Steve, please!” Pierce is almost begging. “We’re this close to a whole new life, a whole new you! All you have to do is say yes!”

“But I don’t want a whole new me!” And as the words leave his mouth Steve realises he truly means it. “I like myself the way I am.”

Steve is knocked back by what feels like a huge gust of wind. He can hear Pierce’s voice from the other side of the door, now joined by Peggy’s. He feels like he’s falling in slow motion. Time rushing against his ears and whizzing past his eyes as he falls and sees every man who ran, every heartbreak. He sees Peggy and Angie and Natasha in the kitchen as they make cupcakes. He sees Darcy and Sam joking at the bar. He sees Bruce holding out that water bottle for him the first night they met. He sees James.

Steve hits the floor.

 

*

 

Steve opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is Peggy. She looks like she’s about to cry. Then he sees Angie, Natasha, and Pierce are all standing above him wearing the same shocked and happy expression, except for Angie who is already crying quite openly.

He tries to sit up. Something feels different.

“Steve,” Pierce whispers. “Your nose.”

Steve lifts a hand to touch where his snout has been for the last twenty-one years and instead finds a normal, straight nose. He lets out a noise of disbelief which fell somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Pierce reaches out to touch his nose and Steve lets him.

“How?” Steve laughs. “How did this happen? I thought it had to be –”

“One of your own kind,” Natasha finishes. “You had the power to break the curse all along.”

Steve sits there for a second dumbfounded before Angie pulls him in for a very wet hug with a muffled “oh Steve” as a new wave of tears overtook her.

“How does it look?” he asks once Angie has released him.

“Bit crooked,” Peggy grins and Steve laughs.

The curse is finally broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! The curse is finally broken!  
> As always I love hearing what you guys think so leave me a comment and my tumblr is [here](http://razz-a-ma-tazz.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi or hide from the shitstorm that is the fallout of the American presidential election.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!! (except for a short epilogue that I'll be posting at the same time as this). Enjoy!

_The only difference between life and dying_  
_Is one is trying, that’s all we’re gonna do_  
_So try to love me and I’ll try to save you_

Lovely, Twenty One Pilots

~

Steve had decided it was best if the press didn’t know what happened. To them Steve has just disappeared. There are a few crazy stories and conspiracy theories surrounding what had happened the day of the wedding, each one more farfetched than the last. But the only overarching theme is that nobody knows what really happened or was he is now, and that’s how Steve wants to keep it.

He feels freer now than he ever has before. He’s no longer trapped inside, or having to hide his face, or being hounded by the press and fans. Now he can just be Steve. He’s got a job now too at the delivery company where Darcy works. The pay is shit but he’s still got some money left over from his short-lived fame and the hours are pretty flexible meaning he can focus on his art. He’s been thinking about maybe going to college, but for now he’s happy where he is.

There’s a knock on his door and Steve looks up from where he’s been packing his suitcase. He’s leaving for good this time, and since this exit is less hasty than the last he’s taken the time to pack up his things. Bruce had offered to drive the stuff over to Darcy’s flat, since although there’s not a huge amount, it’s still too much for Darcy’s little Vespa.

“Come in,” Steve calls out. Pierce opens the door.

“You’re leaving,” he observes simply.

“Yeah.” Steve closes his suitcase and looks around the room. It looks rather bare now; the walls stripped of his posters and his wardrobe empty. Steve picks up his suitcase and one of the boxes by the door and struggles to pick up a second.

“Here, let me help.” Pierce lifts the second box.

“Thanks.” Steve leads them downstairs and they walk through the house in silence. They get out onto the street where Bruce is waiting for Steve with his car.

As soon as he sees them Bruce bounds over and takes the box off Steve’s hands and they load his things into the trunk.

“I’ll uh leave you two to say your goodbyes,” Bruce says, disappearing round the driver’s side.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay?” Pierce asks Steve.

Steve barks out a laugh. “You don’t want me here, you never did.”

“That’s not true, I’ve kind of gotten used to you if I’m quite honest.”

“ _’Gotten used to me’_? Gee, thanks,” Steve laughs. “Goodbye, Pierce.” Steve opens the car door but stops, debating whether or not he should speak. “It’s just…” Steve sighs. “In all those years you never once told me that you loved me or that you accepted me,” he says. “You’re my family, you had just as much power to break the curse as I did.”

“I – we, we _all_ thought the curse was talking about marriage,” Pierce blusters. “How was I meant to know…”

“You didn’t know, I get it,” Steve nods. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you were a shitty uncle.” He gets in the car, not giving Pierce the opportunity to reply and somehow talk Steve into staying. He yanks the door firmly shut and Bruce pulls away from the curb.

“You okay?” Bruce asks as they head to Darcy’s place. “That seemed kinda intense.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he sighs. “I think I just need some time away from Pierce.” He fiddles with the dials on Bruce’s radio, trying to pick up something that isn’t static. “I don’t want to lose contact with him completely, he’s the only family I have.”

“That’s not true,” Bruce says as he manoeuvres through Manhattan traffic. “You’ve got me and Darcy and Sam,” he points out. “And what about Peggy, Natasha, and Angie? You grew up around them.”

“Yeah,” Steve grins to himself, “you’re right.”

They drive in silence for a while, Steve having given up on the radio, before Steve voices the thought that’s been circling round his head ever since the curse was broken.

“I… I just can’t help thinking,” Steve looks out the window, avoiding looking at Bruce, “if my mom had survived would the curse have been broken sooner? Or if I had just…”

“It’s over now, no good dwelling on the past when you can’t change it,” Bruce says. “Besides, if it weren’t for the curse you probably would have never met James,” he points out.

“Yeah, there’s that – hey,” Steve snaps his gaze over to Bruce, “How do you know about James?” he asks.

“Darcy loves to gossip,” Bruce grins. “And from what she’s told me, you got it _bad_.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve mumbles, turning to look back out the window with a huff.

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t know.”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

It’s Christmas Day, a whole month since the curse was broken, and Darcy and Steve are setting the table for Christmas dinner. Originally it was just going to be the two of them, but then neither Sam nor Bruce had anywhere to go for Christmas so they got invited over. Then Bruce invited Clint, and Jane and Thor’s plans to visit his family got cancelled, and long story short they now have eight of them squeezing into Darcy’s tiny flat for Christmas dinner. Steve had invited Peggy, Natasha, and Angie too and, while Natasha accepted, Peggy and Angie were spending Christmas in England with Peggy’s parents. But they’d dropped over Steve’s present last week. Steve’s happy to say that he hasn’t lost touch with any of them. He even decided to send Pierce a Christmas card. It was a pig wearing a Santa hat. Steve thought it was funny.

“So, Steve, how’s the painting going?” Clint asks as they all struggle through Christmas dinner, handicapped by the fact that they’re all so packed in around the table that no one can move their arm to cut their food without knocking into someone else.

“I still don’t understand why you haven’t sold your story,” Darcy says, pushing up her lopsided paper hat. “Or at least tell people who you are, they’d all be clamouring to buy your art.”

“That’s not the point, Darce,” Steve rolls his eyes. “I want people to buy my art because they like it, because it speaks to them, not because I used to have a snout. Anyway,” he turns his attention back to Clint, “it’s been going really well, I’ve actually been pretty swamped recently. I guess people just want paintings for Christmas presents,” he shrugs, causing Sam beside him to spill the gravy he was trying to pour. “Sorry.”

“Actually,” Thor clears his throat, his face going red, “I might have had something to do with that.”

“What do you mean?” Steve replies.

“I may have mentioned your work to a few colleagues of mine…”

“Yeah,” Bruce chips in, “I think Tony did the same thing.”

“Guys,” Steve groans. “I didn’t want any help.”

“It’s not charity,” Bruce says. “It’s just some much needed publicity.”

“Yes,” Thor agrees. “I didn’t force anyone to buy anything, they all loved your work.”

“They did?”

“Yes, in fact my publisher said he thought you should have a gallery exhibition.”

“What? Really?” Steve tries to bite back the hopeful grin that spreads across his face.

“Absolutely,” Thor replies with a huge grin of his own.

“We should have a toast,” Jane proposes, lifting her glass. “To Steve,” everyone lifts their glass in unison and Steve fights the urge to disappear under the table in embarrassment. “Maybe next year he’ll be able to take us all out for a fancy Christmas dinner.”

“Excuse you,” Darcy interrupts as everyone clinks glasses, “what’s wrong with my cooking? Is this not fancy enough for you?” No longer than a second after she’d said this, the fairy lights hung around the room flickered before cutting out. “Not a word,” Darcy mutters as she extricates herself from the crowded table.

 

Steve helps Natasha wash up as Darcy and Sam struggle to find the dodgy bulb and get the lights back on. Meanwhile Thor and Clint are trying to find a Christmas film for them to watch while Jane sorts everyone’s presents into neat piles.

“Do you want any help with the washing?” Bruce asks as he finishes boxing up the last of the leftovers and putting them in the fridge.

“No, that’s fine,” Natasha answers. “But I think Darcy and Sam could probably do with a hand, they seem pretty clueless.”

“I can hear you!” Darcy calls across the room.

“Here,” Natasha tosses Steve a dishcloth, “you can dry.”

“Just like old times,” Steve grins as Natasha scrubs a plate efficiently and hands it to him. “Do you remember when I really fancied cake so we decided to bake some and nearly burned the house down?”

“Angie had an absolute fit when she saw what we’d done,” Natasha chuckles. It’s quiet for a minute and they can hear Sam and Darcy bickering in the other room. “You seem really happy,” she says quietly.

“I am,” he replies. “How are you, Natasha? Are you –”

“I’m fine,” she nods to herself. “Thinking of quitting work, might take a year out or something, go and do the whole soul searching thing.”

“Anywhere in mind?”

“Somewhere in Europe, Budapest maybe,” she shrugs and they fall back into silence. “Do you miss him?”

“Who?” Steve asks, playing dumb, as he puts away the plates.

“James.” Steve closes the cupboard door and straightens up. “I know you really liked him.”

“Yeah, I guess I do miss him.” Steve fiddles with the fraying edge of the tea towel. “But it probably wouldn’t have worked out.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Better than thinking it would have worked out and I missed my chance,” he shrugs.

She considers him for a moment. “Steve, there’s something you need to know.” She reaches for the tea towel and dries her hands then goes and retrieves her bag. From it she pulls a brown file and hands it to Steve.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“Christmas present,” she says cryptically. “Steve, James isn’t who you think he is,” Natasha says as Steve opens the file. “His real name is Bucky Barnes.”

She gives him a chance to look over the file.

“What?” He asks after a few minutes. “Why did you give this to me?”

There’s a triumphant cheer from the living room as the others finally get the Christmas lights working.

“Because I thought you had a right to know,” she says, leaning back against the cupboards and regarding him coolly. “Because before you write James – Bucky – off for not saying yes, I think you should know he never had the power to break the curse in the first place.”

“Come on, guys!” Darcy yells from the other room. “We’ve doing presents!”

“What am I meant to do now?” Steve asks, staring down at Bucky’s file. Two images of Bucky stare back up at him; one younger, with significantly shorter hair, grinning up at him, and the other more recent but slightly blurry, like it had been taken from some distance, shows the Bucky that Steve has come to know.

“That’s up to you,” Natasha replies. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.”

 

*

 

“You okay?” Darcy asks Steve later that evening when everyone has filed out and they’re left to tidy up the scattered wrapping paper. “You’ve been kind of subdued since dinner, and you didn’t freak out nearly as much as expected when Thor gave you a signed copy of his new book.”

Steve remains silent and pretends to be absorbed in clearing away rubbish. For a second he considers whether he should even tell Darcy what’s happened, but he quickly brushes away that thought. Of course he should, he tells Darcy everything. But even though Steve knows he should tell her, that doesn’t mean he wants to. Because he knows what she’ll say, and worse, he knows she will be right.

“I mean it’s not even out in stores yet,” she continues. “I was expecting at least a small scream and possibly some tears.”

“This is nice,” Steve evades, folding up some wrapping paper with glittery snowflakes on it. “I might save it for next year.”

“Don’t bother, wrapping paper is like $2.”

“I know but it’s better for the environment.” Darcy walks over to where Steve’s standing and grabs the paper then shoves it in the bin liner. “Hey, I was gonna save –”

“Stop avoiding my question, Steve,” Darcy cuts across him. “What’s wrong?”

 Steve sighs in defeat. “It would be easier just to show you,” he caves in. Steve darts out of the living room and collects the file from where he’d thrown it on his bed earlier. “Natasha gave me this,” he says as he hands Darcy the file.

He watches as she reads it and her eyebrows slowly travel higher up her forehead.

“We need to go see him,” she decides, snapping the file shut resolutely.

Steve groans. That’s exactly what he thought she’d say.

“What?”

“We can’t just turn up at his house,” Steve says the first excuse that pops into his head.

“Why not? The address is right there.” Darcy waves the file for emphasis.

Steve retrieves the file from her and sits down on the couch. “I don’t know,” he fiddles with the edges of the paper, “I just don’t feel like I can turn up there randomly.”

“Sure we can, people do it all the time,” she persists.

“I’m scared,” Steve says so quietly that he’s sure Darcy didn’t hear him. But there it is, the truth. It’s all fine saying that maybe the only reason it didn’t work out between the two of them was because of the curse and everything with the wedding, but what if that wasn’t the case? What if Bucky just genuinely didn’t like Steve? Then Steve would turn up at his house with a little bit of hope then get his heart broken again and be humiliated.

“Oh honey,” Darcy sits down next to Steve on the couch and puts her arm around him. “Trust me, James –”

“Bucky,” Steve corrects.

“ _Bucky_ will want to see you.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve scoffs.

“I do, but if you still don’t believe me then don’t worry,” Darcy says in a tone which automatically makes Steve worry, “I think I’ve got a plan.”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

New Year’s Eve finds Steve and Darcy standing outside Bucky’s apartment building in fancy dress. Well, Steve’s fancy dress is mainly just a plastic pig snout and his scarf while Darcy is dressed up as a bumble bee. Steve readjusted the snout, feeling self-conscious and scared that he’s going to be recognised at any second, but his fear abates slightly when he sees a couple of people walk into the building wearing the exact same mask as him.

“What?” Steve asks, noticing the strange look Darcy’s giving him.

“Nothing,” she shrugs, “it’s just weird seeing the old you.” Steve rolls his eyes in response.

“So remind me again how we got invited to this party?” Steve asks, still feeling unsure about whether they should be there.

“I told you,” Darcy huffs impatiently. “Sam knows Riley who knows Wanda whose brother is Pietro who’s throwing this party and just so happens to live on the same floor as your Prince Charming,” she pauses for breath. “Therefore we’re invited by association.”

“It’s sounds like gate-crashing to me,” Steve says, his scepticism mounting.

“Whatever,” she waves him off, “do you want to see James or not?”

“Bucky,” he corrects her.

“Same thing.” Darcy grabs his arm and pulls him towards the propped open door to the building.

“What am I even going to say to him?” Steve shouts over the music as they climb the stairs and get closer to the party.

“You’ll think of something,” she reassures him. They fight through a crowded corridor of people holding drinks to a more subdued side of the hallway. “This is it.” She stops them in front of Bucky’s door and knocks loudly before Steve can stop her.

There’s clattering and the sound of something being dropped followed by a rapid succession of swear words before Bucky opens the door to them. The second the door is opened Steve’s mind completely blanks.

He’s got no clue what to say.

The only thing he can think of is how good Bucky looks. His hair’s grown out slightly and is tied back from his face, and he looks like he’s been sleeping better. Steve’s gaze sweeps down. Bucky’s wearing a plain white top with a shirt open over it and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’d never really noticed Bucky’s arms before which he realises now is a crying shame. Once he gets over the initial shock of seeing Bucky standing in front of him, Steve almost feels disappointed. Part of him – a small, insecure, heinous part of him – had been hoping that Bucky would look like shit, that missing Steve would have devastated him.  

Steve looks back up at Bucky, then turns to Darcy helplessly. They’re both looking at him expectantly.

“He’s gotta pee,” Darcy swoops in, “can he use your bathroom?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky huffs in annoyance but steps back to let Steve in. Steve gives Darcy a panicked look over his shoulder to which she unhelpfully responds with a thumbs up.

“Nice place,” Steve comments as he steps into Bucky’s apartment.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Bucky says curtly pointing to a door on the right. Steve tries to look round subtly as he walks to the door Bucky indicated. The apartment is small but Bucky doesn’t have a lot of furniture so it’s not too cramped. There are DVD cases sitting by the TV waiting to be put away and random stacks of books and paper dotted around the room. There are a couple of posters framed on the wall, mostly sci-fi, and Steve catches sight of the poster for Star Wars Episode IV. What a nerd.

“You’re packing,” Steve notes as he passes a half full suitcase on his way to the bathroom. “Going on holiday?”

“Something like that,” Bucky replies as Steve shuts the door behind him. “Just need to get out of New York for a while, too many temptations.”

“Temptations like…?” Steve looks in the mirror, trying to psyche himself up.

“Poker mostly.” Steve flushes the toilet and steps out into Bucky’s living area.

“Ah, so you’re a gambler?”

“Ex- gambler,” Bucky corrects.  “Currently in recovery.” Steve nods, that probably explains why he’s looking so much better.

“I had a friend once who had an issue with gambling but –”

“Take off the mask,” Bucky interrupts him.

“Excuse me?” Steve feels his heart beating almost out of his chest. Has Bucky known it was him this whole time? God, he probably thinks Steve’s an idiot. Why did he let Darcy talk him into this?

“Sorry,” Bucky sighs. “It reminds me of someone I used to know. All evening it feels like I’ve been running into him.”

“Oh,” Steve feels a wave of relief wash over him and his heartrate gradually starts to return to normal. “This guy, did he mean a lot to you?” Steve says as nonchalantly as possible, absentmindedly browsing the photos on Bucky’s cabinet.

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly, “a whole lot.”

“You ever tell him?”

“No.”

“Why not? What happened?” Steve turns to face Bucky, his heart picking up speed again. He’s going to end up doing himself some serious damage if he carries on like this.

“I couldn’t give him what he wanted,” Bucky says as Steve walks towards him, using the steps to try and control his breathing.

“And what was that?”

“To be free,” Bucky says after a moment of consideration.

Steve stops. He should tell Bucky. Now is the perfect moment. He opens his mouth to speak but then he spots something over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Hey! You lied to me!” Steve storms across the room towards the piano sitting in the corner. “I guessed piano and you –”

Bucky catches Steve’s arm, whirling him around and pulling him in for a kiss. It’s Steve’s first kiss – disregarding a peck Angie had given him one time out of pity – and the mask it making it difficult and pushing into his face, and Steve is seconds away from losing his balance because he’s at a really weird angle, and there’s at least half a foot difference in height between the two of them. But it’s Bucky, _he’s kissing Bucky_ , so none of that matters. Nothing matters up until this point; not the curse, not Pierce. It was all just getting him to this point, to where he is now, and where he’s pretty sure that he wants to stay for the rest of his life: with Bucky.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky almost sobs when they pull apart, the corners of his eyes damp. “I didn’t have the power to break the curse, I –”

 “It’s okay,” Steve smiles and removes the mask, “it turned out I did.”

Bucky releases a quick exhale, stepping back in shock.

“It’s still me, James,” Steve says quickly. He pushes a strand of Bucky’s hair that has fallen free of its tie behind his ear affectionately. “It’s Steve.”

“My name’s Bucky,” he says with a small smile.

“I know,” Steve says, mentally kicking himself. “Bucky,” Steve repeats.

“Can I?” Bucky reaches out tentatively towards Steve’s nose, only unlike the first time Bucky did this, Steve doesn’t shy away from his touch.

“Yeah.” Bucky cautiously touches Steve’s new nose, starting at the bridge then moving down until he boops the end of it and lets out a small chuckle. “I sometimes miss it,” Steve admits, “but then I remember –”

“You’re still you,” Bucky finishes for him.

“What happens now?” Steve asks after a beat of silence.

“What do you mean?” Bucky rests his hand on Steve’s hip, looking perplexed.

“You’re leaving.” Steve nods at the suitcase sitting half packed on the table. “You said you need to get out of New York.”

They stand in silence for a moment until suddenly an idea dawns on Bucky.

“Come with me.”

“What?” Now it’s Steve’s turn to look confused.

“A buddy of mine from Boston is away for a couple of months and he’s letting me stay at his place,” Bucky explains, a huge grin on his face. “You could come to Boston with me.”

“And live with you?” asks Steve.

“Yeah, okay, I admit that might be a bit quick.” Bucky looks sheepish and drops Steve’s gaze.

“Bucky,” Steve says and waits until Bucky looks back at him. “I proposed within a couple of weeks of knowing you, that’s about as quick as you can get.”

“Fair point, although the circumstances were a little different.”

“If you did move to Boston,” Steve says slowly after thinking for a moment, “then you’d need someone to keep an eye on you to stop you from relapsing.”

“What, so you’ll come as my carer?” Bucky laughs. “Gee sexy, Steve.”

“You know what I meant,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“So… You’ll come with me then?” asks Bucky, hopefully.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, “yeah I will. _But_ ,” Steve holds his hand up, stopping Bucky from hugging him, and gives him a very serious look, “on one condition.”

“Name it,” Bucky smiles, his thumb rubbing circles on Steve’s hip as he waits for a reply.

“I get to choose the music. I cannot handle a four-hour car drive of non-stop 80s music.”


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fluffy epilogue to wrap everything up

_This is the first day of my life_   
_Glad I didn’t die before I met you_   
_But now I don’t care, I could go anywhere with you_   
_And I’d probably be happy_

First Day of My Life, Bright Eyes

~

“And that’s how your dad and I ended up together,” Steve finishes as he tucks Sarah’s teddy into bed with her. “Then he whisked me off to Boston on his noble steed –”

“In his noble Ford Fiesta, you mean,” Bucky chips in from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, an amused grin playing on his lips. “That car was older than you were, it’s a wonder it got there in one piece.”

“As I was saying,” Steve continues with a pointed look at Bucky. “Your dad whisked me off to Boston in his noble Ford Fiesta and three years later he proposed.”

“And we lived happily ever after,” Bucky adds.

“So the moral of the story is…”

“Rich people suck?” Tim suggests.

“Uncle Pierce is the worst?”

“He’s not the _worst_ ,” Steve interjects.

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, “Zola was the worst. That guy sounds creepy.”

“The point isn’t who’s the worst, it’s –”

“It’s not the power of the curse, it’s the power you give the curse,” says Bucky.

“Exactly,” Steve smiles. “Now it’s time for bed.”

“I don’t buy it,” Tim protests. “There’s no way you could _actually_ have a pig nose and even if you did, it couldn’t just go away by magic. You’d have to have loads of surgery and the doctors would have to come and cut it off.”

“Well, if you’re good and you go to sleep, I’ll show you a picture of it tomorrow,” Steve bargains.

“Okay,” Tim agrees eagerly and burrows under the covers.

“Night, night,” Bucky says and flicks off the light then closes the door.

 

“You can do story time tomorrow,” Steve says, practically launching himself into bed, still fully clothed.

“Challenge accepted,” Bucky grins as he changes into sweats and a T-shirt. “I’m gonna start reading them The Hobbit.”

“That’s not fair,” Steve grumbles, his face buried in his pillow. “How am I meant to compete with Tolkien?”

“I guess I’m just the better dad.” Bucky smiles as he climbs into bed and Steve plasters himself to him like a clingy octopus.

“Yeah, you wish,” Steve mumbles, wriggling around until he gets comfy on Bucky’s chest. “I can’t believe you kept that book.”

“It’s a good book,” Bucky points out.

“Nah, you’re just a sap, otherwise you would have sold it ages ago.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky blusters, “it was our first date.”

“Mhmm, like I said, you’re a sap,” Steve says affectionately. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth.” Steve pries himself from Bucky’s grip and walks over to the bathroom.

Bucky crosses the room to their bookcase and picks out The Hobbit. He smiles as he flicks through the pages absentmindedly.

“How much is this book worth anyway?” He asks as he wanders back over to the bed.

“’bout firfyfowsen,” Steve replies, his words garbled by the toothbrush in his mouth.

“Didn’t catch that.”

Steve spits out the toothpaste and repeats, “about thirty thousand.”

“Thirty thousand dollars?” Bucky manages to choke out, his legs almost collapsing from underneath him as he lowers himself onto the bed.

“No, thirty thousand rupees,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, seemingly unable to take it in. Steve walks over to where Bucky is sitting gobsmacked on the edge of the bed and slips himself between his legs, plucking the book from his hands and putting it on the bedside table. “What the hell, Steve? I’ve had that book for over a decade and you never thought to tell me how much it’s worth?”

“I thought you knew,” Steve shrugs and distractedly pushes Bucky’s hair back from his forehead. He’d decided to get it cut a couple of years ago and although Steve likes it short, he sometimes misses his long hair.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT IF I HAD DROPPED IT IN THE BATH!” says Bucky, a horrified look on his face that makes his husband collapse into a fit of laughter. “I’m serious, Steve!” Bucky says, trying (and failing) to resist the urge to laugh as well. “We could put the kids through college with that,” he says once their giggles have died down.

“I doubt it,” Steve scoffs.

“Well we could put it towards college anyway, some of it at least.”

“And what happened to this book being an everlasting symbol of our love, huh?” Steve teases.

“I’m thinking about our kids’ education, Steve.” He digs his fingers into the spot just below Steve’s ribs where he knows he’s ticklish. “Think of the children!”

Steve laughs and wriggles away from Bucky. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want them turning out like you.”

Bucky makes an offended noise and thwacks Steve with a pillow. “Punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve retorts, grabbing a pillow and hitting Bucky in return.

 

A shabby car is parked on the opposite side of the road, directly across from Steve and Bucky’s house. Inside, Zola sits waiting with his camera for a clear shot of Steve through the bedroom window. Things haven’t exactly been going great for him career wise of late – he’s most likely going to get fired sometime within the next few weeks – but Zola has found the story that should hopefully guarantee his job. It’s a simple enough ‘ _where is he now?_ ’ story. Steve wasn’t exactly difficult to track down and, if he does this right, he might be able to drum up interest again leading to even more stories about Steve Rogers. But _he_ will have been the first.

He clutches his camera and shuffles in his seat for a better view as two figures come into sight through the window. Zola watches Steve hit Bucky with a pillow until Bucky wrestles it away from him and holds it above his head. Steve laughs as he reaches for the pillow that’s far out of his reach before accepting defeat and pulling Bucky down for a kiss by the front of his shirt.

Zola raises his camera and watches through the lens as Steve comes to the window to shut the curtains. He has a clear shot. Steve is looking over his shoulder at Bucky and then turns back to the window, grinning at something Bucky said. He’s clearly older, but the biggest change to Steve’s face isn’t his age or even the lack of his snout; it’s that he looks genuinely happy for the first time that Zola has ever witnessed.

With a sigh Zola lowers the camera and a second later Steve disappears out of view behind the fabric. After a moment of deliberation, he places the camera on the seat beside him and retreats unnoticed from the suburban street.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe that this is over! A lot of the time that I was writing this I wasn't sure if I was gonna finish it, mainly because I didn't know how well the story would adapt and I didn't think anyone would read it. But if you're reading this then thank you so much for indulging my silly little story! Thanks to everyone who left comments, they've been so encouraging!  
> I'm working on a couple of other fics at the moment so hopefully one of those will be up fairly soon if you want to read more of my stuff. My tumblr is [here](http://razz-a-ma-tazz.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi and, as always, leave me a comment and let me know what you think.


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